I'm No Superman
by KatZen
Summary: Even Supermen can fall from grace as they deal with the fallout of a disastrous rescue. Sequel to Devils in Disguise.
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: **The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.****

**AN: The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety. Again, another darker tale, and definitely not meant for the readers who like their Tracy boys squeaky clean. I've always thought that since they're only human, they're also bound to have their flaws as well. **

**AN 2: Upon re-reading a second time after posting, I realised that I had accidentally used the name the movie gave the Hood, so I've changed that, and from here on in, it'll be Belah Gaat instead of Trangh Belagant. Oops. Sorry about that.**

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

I'm No Superman

It had been six months since this particular case had landed on his desk, but FBI Special Agent Mark Perry had been assigned this case and he had finally made a breakthrough.

This was a landmark case, one that could make or break his career with the FBI, but it sure as hell wasn't going to be an easy case. Perry had encountered several difficulties already; for instance, it had taken the better part of two months, and plenty of cooperation from Interpol and other international agencies, to discover what the victim's birth name was. The Hood, according to his birth certificate, was actually called Belah Gaat. Along with discovering the victim's real name, Perry had also uncovered a list of charges and convictions. Ranging from petty theft to driving under the influence, to arson, to conspiracy to murder, the charges spanned over several years, ranging in their severity.

Privately, Perry wondered why he was wasting his time on this lowlife scumbag, but murder was murder, and even a criminal deserved to have his unlawful death investigated.

Yes, murder. As soon as the autopsy results had pointed in that direction, Perry had a forensics team analyse the scene of the crime with a fine toothed comb. And found evidence, they had. Further forensic tests had given Perry some leads, and some possible suspect in his case, but he disbelieved the results. As conclusive as they were, there was no way they could have been right. Perry had sent them back twice more to be reconfirmed. But the result was the same, had always remained consistent.

It was impossible, but it was the only conclusion. The realisation made his skin crawl, but there was no alternative explanation.

A member, or plural, of International Rescue had played a part in the murder of Belah Gaat.

A member of International Rescue was a murderer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: Thank you to all the readers and reviews. My apologies for not being able to respond to them all, but they were all greatly appreciated. **

**A special mention to Xenitha, and a huge thank you for helping me iron out some issues regarding Californian law and court outlines and for explaining baking files in cakes! And for pointing out the Al-Anon / AA discrepancy. Your help, advice and suggestions have been invaluable, and my thanks for all your help can't be expressed enough. You truly are a star for offering to help me out and answering all of my inane questions without getting frustrated by it. At least, I hope you weren't getting frustrated by it... **

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Two

Living on a tropical island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, he thought that the air would be fresh, tangy and breezy. For the most part, he was right; everywhere else on the island, the air lacked pollution, leaving it fresh and exotic, especially after the rains, when the vegetation would release a musky scent.

Unfortunately for him, the room he was in told a different story. The air was stale, tasting old and sour. The stench of beer, various other alcoholic drinks and cigarette smoke permeated the air. Empty glass bottles decorated the floor, along with cigarette butts, some bottles intact, retaining their shape, while others had been smashed, shards of glass sprinkled on the carpet. With a heavy sigh, the almost thirty year old squatted down and threw the bottles into the industrial sized garbage bag he held in his hand.

"This has got to stop, John," he muttered under his breath. "I know it's only been six months since the rescue in San Francisco, but this self-destructive behaviour has gone on long enough. I know you're still grieving; I understand that, but you need to pull your head out of your ass and return back to the real world."

Another bottle tossed into the garbage bag.

Enough of a cacophony to wake the owner of the room.

"What the hell are you doing?" John croaked, voice hoarse from the alcohol and cigarettes he had consumed the night before.

"When I stepped into your room this morning, I stepped on a piece of glass. Not only did I have to get the glass out, I had to get a tetanus shot, simply because there's so much crap in your room. So, I'd hazard a guess and say that I'm saving you from a lifetime of tetanus and infections," Scott spat back acidly, throwing another empty glass bottle into a bin. "Saving you from yourself."

"Well, no one asked you to!" John snapped, roughly shoving Scott to one side as he stormed his way into his bathroom. "Just piss off; let me wallow in my own self-made hell in peace!"

With the bathroom door slamming behind John, Scott took it as his cue to leave. The layout of the villa meant that to get to the kitchen to dispose of the garbage, Scott would have to pass by his father's office. In a way, that was a good thing; Scott had a few bones to pick with the patriarch of the family. In turn, Jeff had a few things he needed to discuss with Scott.

Responding to his father calling his name, Scott made a detour into Jeff's office. At his father's gesture, Scott sunk down into a chair on the other side of Jeff's desk.

"We have a problem, Dad," Scott began, cutting Jeff off.

"John, again?"

"Yes. John. Again. Dad, he needs help," Scott insisted, shaking the garbage bag so the bottles rattled. "He can't keep going on this way. His liver and lungs will not thank him for it. He's turned into an alcoholic!"

"Scott, we've been through this before," Jeff sighed, raking his hands through his greying hair. "I can suspend him from International Rescue, and I have. I can force him to attend AA meetings religiously. I can make John do a lot of things, but you and I both know that I can't force John to admit that he needs help and then get him to accept it."

Despondently, Scott nodded his head in understanding. "I know. Believe me; I know. It's just hard seeing him this way, watching him self-destruct and not being able to intervene."

"Well, maybe the upcoming trial will give John some closure," Jeff suggested.

The court case was a consequence from the rescue six months ago. With Rya Haddon and her brother-in-law on trial for two counts of abduction, two counts of grievous bodily harm, two counts of torture, one count of conspiracy to murder of Jade Mackenzie and one count of being an accessory before the fact to murder, Jeff had hoped that a guilty verdict and lifelong incarceration would be some comfort to John. Even though the case was being tried in California, the death penalty was something Jeff, as the father of International Rescue, did not condone. No, life incarceration would have been more of a punishment than death. Deep down, Jeff knew that the verdict would change very little for John.

As part of the prosecution's case, International Rescue was required to show, as the men working for the organisation had been called up as material witnesses. International Rescue would only turn up if there was a closed court. Luckily, the organisation was held in such high esteem that the request had been granted without a second thought. With the recollection of the events that had transpired, the District Attorney had assured them that the case would be a slam dunk win; no jury in their right mind would acquit the defendants. Recounting the personal cost the rescue had on John, Virgil and Alan would be the icing on the cake.

John, though, would have to pull himself together before then. It wouldn't send the jury the right impression if he turned up so drunk he wasn't lucid.

"But, anyway, that isn't what I called you in here for," Jeff said, changing the topic. "You have a problem."

"I do? News to me."

"Yes. Do you remember your most recent project for the business?"

"The turbine for commercial planes that can run on biomass fuel. That's the most recent project. But I thought all the negotiations were in place, and that we had buyers for the part. Profits were quite high, since production costs were low. It was an all-around success. How can there be a problem?"

"I don't know what it is, Scott. All I know is that the office has requested you fly in today and attend a conference to help smooth this over. Since this is your project, it's up to you to hone in on what the issue is and find a workable solution. If you leave now, you'll be able to make it there by early afternoon."

Standing up, Scott sighed in annoyance. Spending a day in the office wasn't on his agenda for today. Instead, after completing some maintenance work on Thunderbird One, he was hoping to have spent the afternoon with his wife and three kids. It looked like that plan was out of the window, then.

"Okay, I'm going. I'll grab some breakfast first, though."

* * *

><p>It had been six months since his ordeal, and physically, Virgil was almost back to normal. Looking at his appearance, a person picked at random wouldn't have guessed that he had been tortured to the point where he was barely clinging to life and undergone several reconstructive surgeries to regain as much mobility as he could within the past year.<p>

Psychologically, though, that was a different matter. Six months on, and Virgil was still suffering from sleepless nights. No amount of sleeping pills and home remedies could solve the situation. With each passing day, the shadowed rings grew darker, and more prominent. Gordon had jokingly suggested that Virgil tried alcohol to send him off to sleep, and it was a measure of how desperate Virgil was that he was seriously considering Gordon's recommendation. Along with that, Virgil was still refusing to discuss what went down during the time he had been abducted. His mind had built a barrier against the events that had transpired, and every time his father or brothers tried to talk about it, Virgil would remain resolutely silent, mood rapidly sinking before he exploded in a fit of rage. If his less than tactful brothers couldn't take the hint, Virgil would abruptly change the topic of discussion, steering them away from events he wanted to keep suppressed.

Today, though, he was perfectly happy. Sitting at the breakfast table, he entertained his ever escalating horde of nephews and only niece by removing and reapplying the dentures he was using in his mouth, as a substitute for the teeth that had been blown out of his mouth.

"Again!" Virgil's only niece – for now – Melissa, cried out happily, highly amused at the free entertainment Virgil was displaying.

"Again, huh?" Virgil echoed, laughing. Spending time with the next generation of Tracys never failed to put him in a good mood. "Your Daddy can't do this, can he? Your Daddy's not as cool as Uncle Virgil. Isn't that right?"

"Daddy," Scott interrupted, stalking into the kitchen as he dumped the garbage bag in the bin and poured himself a bowl of cereal. "Will pretend he didn't hear that comment. No one's as cool as Daddy, right, Mel?" Scott waited for his daughter to nod in agreement before rounding on his eldest son. "Luke?"

The three year old boy nodded enthusiastically at his father. From his highchair, Scott's youngest son let out an excited squeal at hearing his father's voice.

"Atta boy, Nick," Scott grinned, tickling his almost one year old under his chin. "Picked the winning side, little guy."

With the lack of support, Virgil admitted defeat. "You win this round, big brother of mine. So, what are your plans for the day?"

Scott groaned, "I'm heading over to the office to sort out some issues with the biomass fuel jet turbines. You?"

"Resting, relaxing, having fun," Virgil smiled, laughing at Scott's glare. "Not being stuck in a boardroom full of stuffy shirts."

"Rubbing it in, Virgil. Salt on a wound, man."

"Well, since you're heading to the mainland, just remember to keep your nose clean. Brains told me that Agent Perry's still keeping tabs on our movements. You'd think he'd have cleared us, given that he's questioned us several times over the past six months, and he hasn't come up with much, but no."

Perhaps it was his imagination, or maybe his eyes were playing tricks on him, but Virgil could have sworn he saw guilt flash across Scott's face, disappearing as quickly as it had appeared. Briefly, the chestnut haired Tracy contemplated pushing the point, ready to act as his brother's confidant, but he decided against it. Scott, Virgil knew, was the kind of person who would only approach and accept help if he had exhausted all other possibilities. Besides, there were some things Virgil didn't think he wanted to know.

"Does Tash know you're going to the office today?"

"Not yet. I'll tell her as I get changed into a suit. Unfortunately, jeans and a t shirt isn't suitable attire for this conference."

Spoon clattering in the bowl, Scott placed his crockery into the sink, rinsing it out with water before stacking it into the dishwasher. "I'm gonna fly now. You three," he gestured to his progeny. "Make sure you're good for Mommy, okay?"

"See you later, Scott. And remember…"

"Watch out for Perry. He's hounding for blood. I know, Virg," Scott said, heading out the door. "I'll see you later."

* * *

><p>With his hypothesis in place – and he was pretty sure it was correct – Special Agent Mark Perry was in a prime position to proceed with his investigation. Unfortunately for him, he had hit a small hitch.<p>

Well, really, it was a monumental snag, but it didn't change the facts he had formed his theory on.

There was a victim, one where the body had indicated foul play, and physical evidence corroborated the story. With no natural cause of death, Perry had to pursue this avenue of investigation.

The crime scene was on a private floor of the hospital. At Belah Gaat's approximate time of death, the only other people who had access to the floor were the personnel of International Rescue.

And therein lay the snag. International Rescue was an anonymous operation. No one knew the names of the workers. No one knew, for sure, what they looked like, or where they came from. Like ghosts, they flitted in and out of the system, only appearing when they needed to, and remaining hidden when they wanted to. In a strange way, it was almost as though the workhorses behind the agency didn't exist. How could Perry detain someone that wasn't, well, present? In addition to that, having to arrest, charge and detain a person that was held in such high esteem was not to his personal taste.

But the forensic evidence indicated that there was another person on the floor at the same time. DNA evidence at the crime scene matched DNA samples provided willingly by potential suspects during his six month investigation period.

It wasn't hard for him to join the dots.

A member of International Rescue was present at the crime scene while the crime occurred.

Scott Tracy was, in fact, at the crime scene when the crime occurred.

It was a logical inference that Tracy was a member of International Rescue.

And yet, he couldn't act upon his findings. Perry wanted, no, he needed to hear Scott admit that he was a member of International Rescue, before he could proceed. There was something less despicable over charging an astute business man compared to charging and detaining a member of a much loved humanitarian organisation, even if it was only for his own peace of mind. Even though they were one and the same person, Mark Perry had been able to untangle the dual personalities of Scott Tracy and view them as separate entities.

A soft knock on the door to his cubby hole.

"Hey, Perry, you know the people you were keeping tabs on?"

Drawn out of his musings, Perry nodded.

"Well, one of them is headed this way. He radioed into San Francisco's Airport Control Tower, requesting clearance to land."

It was his lucky day, Perry felt. "Which Tracy is it?"

"Scott Tracy."

"Well, doesn't he make my life easier," Perry murmured to himself. "Time to go pay him a little visit so he can answer some questions."


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety.**

**Broken record time, but I'd just like to thank everyone that's taken the time to read this and review it. It really does mean a lot. **

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Maybe. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Three

With one operative suspended indefinitely and another operative dealing with Tracy Industries related work, International Rescue was not running to full manpower. Between the active operatives – Gordon and Virgil, with Alan up on Thunderbird Five – if their services were required, they would have been stretched a tad bit thin.

And required they were.

The klaxon blared around the island. From his piano, Virgil leapt up and headed over to the converted Command and Control Centre.

"What're we dealing with, Dad?"

"Monorail derailment. I've had Alan send through the co-ordinates to Thunderbird Two's guidance system. Although it's relatively straightforward for a rescue, you and Gordon'll be pushed for time. You'll need to – "

Virgil held up a hand, forestalling Jeff. "Dad, we'll figure it out. We'll do our best out there. After getting the all clear from the doctor, I can't wait to get back in field!"

"I know, Virgil. But, just remember, if we're needed, it means people are in trouble. That's never a good thing. Try toning your jovial mood down a notch or two."

As Virgil settled himself against the portrait that would tip him towards Thunderbird Two, Gordon sprinted into the room, towel drying his hair from his dip in the ocean. Flicking his towel at his father, Gordon took the appropriate place so he could be transported to Thunderbird Two. With Gordon in place, Jeff took his customary place behind his desk.

"Thunderbirds are go!"

* * *

><p>From outside the imposing building of Tracy Industries, Special Agent Perry and his partner sat in their parked car, eyes trained on the uppermost floor of the building. The blinds in the windows were drawn, but the two agents could still make out a shadowed figure pacing up and down on the inside.<p>

Positive confirmation that Tracy was there.

"I still don't see why we couldn't intercept the suspect at the airport," Special Agent Tyler sniffed, swilling some cold coffee around his mouth.

"Because, I needed a court clerk to sign off on the subpoena for Tracy's passport," Perry replied patiently. "If I don't get his passport, he can leave the country free and clear. If he leaves, he'll return back to that island home of his. That island is in international waters; we, as the FBI, have no jurisdiction there. If we have no jurisdiction, we cannot make an arrest. Without an arrest, and a charge, the federal prosecutor doesn't have a case. Ergo, the safest course of action is to prevent him from leaving."

"But we could have sought out extra-terrestrial jurisdiction and made an arrest on his home soil."

Another tired sigh from Perry. He was really starting to wish that the partner he was working with before hadn't been transferred to New York. Giving a crash course in this case to his new colleague was not high on Perry's to-do list.

"Jefferson Tracy is the recognised governing body on that island. Do you honestly see him cooperating with us if we turned up there with the intention of arresting his son?"

A rhetorical question, with only one right answer. An empathetic no.

"Mark, do you honestly believe that he's capable of this?"

"I think," Perry eventually said, after considering his answer. "I think every Superman has their Kryptonite."

Grabbing the official documents from the hatch in the dash, Perry knew that it was time to act. It was time for Tracy to confirm his suspicions with regards to International Rescue. Slamming the door of the car behind him, Perry marched into the building, with Tyler following close behind.

* * *

><p>The rescue scene was as calm as could be, given the fact that the derailment had happened during peak hour. Onlookers peered from behind the safety barricades – thankfully, there were enough police and law enforcement personnel to ensure that they stayed out of International Rescue's way and out of harm's way.<p>

The weather conditions, however, were less than favourable. Wind howled around the Danger Zone, sending the monorail swinging back and forth wildly. The rail line creaked, bolts weakening from the extra stress that it was under.

Inside Thunderbird Two, Virgil wrestled with his machine to stay on course.

"Wind's gonna be a bitch in this one," he grunted out to Gordon. "I need you to operate the magnetic grabs while I steer Two into position and hold her as steady as possible."

"I can do that," Gordon said, moving into position. Hands hovered steadily over the levers. Feet were planted firmly on the floor. Gordon was as ready as he would ever be.

The plan went like this: Gordon would use the magnetic grabs and lock onto the monorail carriage while Virgil held Thunderbird Two steady. With the extra stress on the monorail track – stress the track couldn't support – the rail link would snap and fall into the abyss below. The monorail carriage, on the other hand, would be perfectly safe, clamped between the grabs. Virgil would then fly Thunderbird Two to a safe zone, where Gordon would release the grabs and place the carriage on terra firma. They would head back home, another mission completed successfully.

In the plan, they had forgotten to factor in the strength of Mother Nature. It didn't matter that they were International Rescue, it didn't matter that they controlled some of the most cutting edge, sophisticated technology in the world, to Mother Nature, Virgil and Gordon were just obstacles that needed to be flattened down.

As Virgil guided Thunderbird Two closer to the carriage, Gordon readied the clamps. Neither one noticed the wind picking speed in the external environment. Neither brother was prepared when the force of the wind propelled them into the side of the carriage.

Metal screeched in protest against metal, like nails on a chalkboard. From their seats, the boys lurched with the ship.

"What the hell was that?" Gordon roared, more than a little shaken up.

"Run a diagnostic test, Gordon," Virgil replied in short bursts, struggling to rein the watermelon on steroids back under his control. "Find out the extent of the problem zone and now severe the damage is. In the meantime, we'll try again."

Backing away from the rescue site, and forming a new approach angle, the boys had more success the second time around. Gordon guided the clamps into the appropriate position, waiting for the computer to tell him that they had been locked on and that they were secure before instructing Virgil to move away from the monorail line.

"Okay, Virgil, we are good to go. Get us to that safe zone," Gordon instructed, keeping an eye on the monorail. "Diagnostic check's complete, by the way."

"And?" Virgil prompted, a fine sheen of sweat coating his face as he fought to keep Thunderbird Two stable, ensuring a smooth ride for all the people inside the .

"Gash from panels C2 through to C15, but we've just missed all the major wiring. Mainly surface damage, but all other components appear to be in a functioning order. We can make it back to Base."

"Good. We'll start on repairs as soon as we land."

With the news that Thunderbird Two was still in a flyable condition, Virgil arrived at the safe zone and deposited the carriage safely on the ground. From below, Virgil could see the onlookers erupt into cheers as the passengers inside the monorail car emerged into the open.

With a small sigh, and the overwhelming feeling of satisfaction at saving a few more lives, mission completed successfully, Virgil turned Thunderbird Two around and flew off into the horizon.

* * *

><p>It had taken most of his afternoon to work out what the issue was with the production of his project, and to construct and implement a workable solution, but Scott Tracy had successfully completed his objective. Rubbing wearily at his eyes and yawning slightly, he decided that before he left for the airport to head back home, he needed to stock up on coffee and food.<p>

Slinging his Datapad bag onto his shoulder, making sure that his passport was secured in there so he could leave the mainland, and shrugging into his coat – December temperatures weren't something he was used to, since he had adjusted to living on a tropical island – Scott opened the door of the office. He raised his eyebrows at the two figures that were approaching him.

"Agent Perry," he nodded to the other agent. "I'd like to say that this is a pleasant surprise, but that would be a lie."

Not being one to mince his words, Agent Perry cut straight to the chase. "Where were you on June 24th?"

Eyes guarded, Scott replied with the same answer he had given during his initial questioning. "I was at work."

"Are you positive about that?"

"Yes. I've told you this before."

Agent Perry drew in a deep breath, not the least bit surprised that Scott seemed to be sticking to what was a blatant lie. For Perry, it was positive affirmation that Scott was indeed a member of International Rescue, since he was willing to go to any length to hide his connection to it.

"In that case," Perry replied evenly, "I'm going to have to ask you to come downtown with us for further questioning."

"Now?" There went his plans for leaving for Tracy Island. He'd have to delay his departure until the next morning.

"Yes, now. I would consider that quite cooperative." Perry pierced Scott with a gaze. "Unless, of course, you have something to hide."

* * *

><p>In a temper, angry and frustrated at himself for inflicting damage onto his baby – even though it wasn't intentional – Virgil stormed, well, hobbled - his recently repaired and strengthened muscles were still giving him jip at times, his way through the villa, heading to the kitchen in the search of comfort food.<p>

"Don't mind him," Gordon told his stunned father. "He's unhappy because Thunderbird Two was damaged. You know how attached we get to our Birds. Their pain and suffering is our pain and suffering."

Jeff nodded in understanding. Damaging a Thunderbird was liable to put any Tracy son into a strop.

"How did the rescue go?" An informal debrief, given Virgil had to make the necessary repairs to his ship.

Gordon shrugged his left shoulder. "Would have been slightly easier if Scott had been there to tell us what we were dealing with beforehand."

"I know," Jeff sympathised, resting a hand on Gordon's shoulder. An act of paternal support. "But with Alan up on Five, Scott on the mainland, and John currently suspended pending further notice, there wasn't much we could do."

"When's Scott coming back?" Gordon asked. There was no way he wanted to repeat another rescue without information being relayed back to him from someone already at the scene before him.

"He told me that he would check in before he left, so he should be hailing us around now, but I haven't heard from him. Knowing Scott, he's probably going to eat some dinner before he flies back, because there is nothing worse than flying for five hours on an empty stomach."

Jeff had to stifle his laugh at Gordon's panicked look. Knowing what was agitating Gordon, Jeff decided to put some of those fears to rest.

"The latest Scott will be back is in time for an island breakfast. With any luck you won't have to go on a rescue without him."

With a soft smile, Gordon gestured towards the hangars. "Better go. I promised I'd help Virg patch up Two."

Rubbing his coppertop's hair, Jeff grinned. "You go do that. Then, get some rest; International Rescue needs to be ready and shipshape for the next rescue, and that includes the operatives getting enough rest."

* * *

><p>No matter how it was disguised, the room Scott Tracy had been led to was, essentially, an interrogation room. Having been in the Air Force, he knew what to look for. Lack of visual stimulation, with plain walls and no windows. The only light source came from the light bulbs embedded in the ceiling. And the mirror that was really a one-way window? That just confirmed the type of room Scott was in. He remained statue still; the only sign of Scott's annoyance was the muscle twitching near his left eye.<p>

Perry sat opposite him, holding up the silence that enveloped the room. There was no better tactic to use to get someone to sweat a little, psych them out a bit. But, due to military training, the tactic wasn't working on Scott. Tracy had been trained to withstand these tactics in interrogation. Time to try something different, then.

"Mr Tracy," Perry eventually said, leaning back in his chair. "Are you a member of International Rescue?"

Well, that was out of the blue. Scott's head snapped up, caught unawares. What did Agent Perry just ask him? How could Agent Perry know? What did he suspect? Questions, questions, so many unanswered questions. The safest course of action, for now, would be denial.

_More than just a river in Egypt._

"No. I wish I was, but no. I just work in the family business, like I have done since I was sixteen."

"Really?" More of a statement than a question. Hazarding a guess, Scott supposed it was a rhetorical question.

"Really."

"Then how do you explain this?" From where he sat, Agent Perry pushed a piece of paper over to Scott. It was a still shot captured from one of the security cameras installed in the hospital, showing Scott leave the room the Hood had been treated in. The features were crystal clear in the still of the footage; there was no denying that it was Scott Tracy in the famous International Rescue uniform.

_Shit, shit, shit!_

Alarm bells pealed inside the Tracy heir's head. How the hell did the FBI have this as evidence? The hospital had assured them, as International Rescue, that all footage of the organisation had been wiped from the cameras and the data storage facility. How had this slipped through the crack? It _shouldn't _have slipped through a crack. What was he meant to do now?

"Doppelganger?" Scott suggested, just a hint of sarcasm creeping into his voice.

From where he sat, Agent Perry folded his arms over his chest, unimpressed.

"There's only two ways this will proceed. One; you continue to deny your involvement with the organisation. I have no choice but to let you go. However, the next time International Rescue gets called out, I will be there to arrest and charge International Rescue Operative One on the grounds of Murder One. The DA's got a pretty solid case against the suspect, and they're pushing to go to trial. Naturally, there'd be media coverage at the rescue site. It wouldn't look good if one operative left the scene in handcuffs, would it?"

Scott swallowed involuntarily.

"On the other hand, you could come clean with us, and we'd leave the whole organisation out of it."

What was he meant to do? Continue to deny his involvement to save his reputation, at the cost of tarnishing the reputation of International Rescue, destroying everything his brothers and himself had worked so hard to achieve? Continue to lie to save his own life at the expense of thousands of others? Scott wasn't stupid; he knew that in California, if he was charged with Murder One, and subsequently found guilty by a jury, he could face the death penalty. One Tracy boy for the lives of many? Or was he just as expendable as anyone else?

Eyes hardened, voice filled with shards of glass, Scott began to speak. "Off the record?"

"The bare minimum will be on record," Perry informed him. "Believe me; I want to keep International Rescue's reputation intact just as much as you do. The world needs it. If I can keep the organisation out of this as much as possible, I will. But I need to hear this from you before I can act."

It wasn't good enough. Not for Scott. He needed a guarantee that the information he was about to impart wouldn't be leaked to the media.

"Strictly between all parties that need to be involved. Once this is over, the secret will go with me to my grave. You have my word." As a sign of goodwill, Perry held out his hand.

Grudgingly, Scott shook it. He still wasn't happy, his father would have his guts for garters, but it was the best he would be given. He'd take the assurance that was given to him.

"So, are you a member of International Rescue?"

"Yes."

A moment of silence, tension rising and sinking.

"Is that all?" Scott couldn't quite keep the bite out of his tone. "Can I go now?"

"Not quite." Perry shoved another piece of paper towards Scott. Puzzled, Scott scanned it quickly.

"No. No way! I need my passport to get back home!"

"And I have subpoenaed your passport. This is an official document you must comply with. Hand it over."

"I can't get out of this, can I?"

"No, you cannot. Now, hand it over."

Wordlessly, lips pressed into a thin line, resigned to his fate, Scott handed Perry his ticket to freedom.


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety.**

**Just a quick update for the week. Uni life is kinda busy right now, so future updates may be sporadic, depending on my workload. Assignments and pop quizzes coming up, so they take priority over fanfiction.**

**Another huge thank you to everyone that has been reading and left a review. A few requests to strangle Perry, but no, that's not going to happen. I still need him for a bit, but once I'm done with him, I'll happily throw him so he can be shredded to bits by the wolves - I mean fanfiction readers. :P**

**Now, I'm off to sleep, so I'm awake enough during tomorrow's Chem prac to _not_ set myself (or anyone around me) on fire... again.**

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Four

Jeff Tracy's bellow was completely audible within the confines of Thunderbird Two's hanger. From where he was working on drilling and soldering doubler plates to Two's ripped skin, Gordon jumped, dropping his soldering iron on the floor of the ground.

Beside him, Virgil issued out a curse from under his breath. "I told Scott to keep his nose clean!"

"You don't think he did?"

Virgil gesticulated wildly back towards the body of the main villa. "Are the two pyroclastic volcanos yelling at each other not a big enough hint?"

"Y'know, Virgil, sarcasm really isn't an attractive trait in your personality. Neither is rhetoric."

With a grunt, Virgil cocked his head.

"Time to go run interference." He struggled valiantly to rise to his feet – his muscles had become increasingly stiff and sore – before conceding defeat. Hand outstretched, he looked to Gordon. "Help me up?"

"Do I have to?" To Gordon, there was nothing worse than an irate Jeff.

"Run interference or help me up?"

"Both?"

"Yes."

Wordlessly, Gordon hefted his big brother to his feet before heading over to the main room in the villa.

As the pair approached, it became apparent what the argument was about. Tentatively, the brothers sidled into the main room. Opposite them stood Virgil's and Scott's partners.

_What happened, Augustina?_ Virgil shot his wife a laser beam look.

_Don't know,_ she glanced back. _I arrived on scene two minutes ago. And don't call me Augustina; you know I prefer Gus._

Gordon flashed his eyes at the auburn haired woman.

_Tash, your husband's not in trouble with the law again, is he?_

She closed her eyes and chewed on her lip. Gordon took it as a yes.

From the middle of the room, Jeff paced over the same spot, wearing holes in the plush carpet. Hands curled into fists, knuckles cracked as he tried to control his temper.

"Let me get this straight. You're not coming back to the island tonight. You won't be coming back to the island tomorrow. In fact, you won't be coming back home in the foreseeable future because you surrendered your passport! Am I correct?"

From his portrait in the wall, Scott nodded slowly, lips drawn into a tight line.

"That's correct, sir."

"And just _how_, exactly, am I meant to run International Rescue?" Jeff spat out acidly. "With John on indefinite suspension, we're short-staffed as it is! Now you're telling me you're on indefinite leave?"

It was time to act, Virgil felt, if only to save his big brother from the wrath of their father.

"Father," Virgil began, overly formal, wincing his way towards the patriarch, before settling him down on the sofa. "We'll manage, like we always do. Just calm down."

From the screen, Scott shot Virgil a grateful look. It was nice to know that someone still had his back. There wasn't much point in calming their hopped-up father down, though. Scott's next confession would undo all the work Virgil had done.

"There's more, Dad."

A steely, grey eyed look. The Evil Eye.

"Agent Perry knows that I work for International Rescue."

Jeff sprang back to his feet, gesturing madly at his eldest son. "What? How could he possibly know? Does the term secrecy mean _anything_ to you, Scott? How many times do I have to tell you this before it penetrates into your brain? _We maintain secrecy at all costs!_ I'm very dissatisfied in the way you handled the problems that arose!"

An unreadable look from the Tracy heir, but Gordon could have sworn he saw a flash of hurt and disbelief cross Scott's face. A line crossed with the accusations Jeff had thrown at Scott, Gordon realised. Never a good thing.

"Well, I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment to you," Scott spat out, anger creeping into his voice before his image dissolved into static.

A distraction in the shape of John, as he stumbled through the room, shielding his eyes from the harsh lights as the stench of alcohol and smoke trailed in his wake. Without acknowledging the other members of his family, he headed straight to the liquor cabinet. To his horror, it was empty. There was no substance he could use to dull the relentless throbbing in his chest, nothing to wash away his depression.

He turned hardened, accusatory eyes to the occupants of the room. "Who got rid of the alcohol?"

No one confessed.

"Tell me," John growled, eyes flashing like steel.

Finally, Tash responded. "Scott did. Before he left for the mainland."

John muttered indecipherably under his breath, but Virgil thought it sounded like John had said, "The bastard."

Gordon shook his head in John's direction. Another uncalled for comment.

"Where is he?" John growled again. "I'm gonna kill him! Why did he do this to me?"

"He did it because he's sick and tired of watching you self-destruct," Tash retorted sharply, fully aware of what her husband's intentions were with his actions. "He did it because, for reasons that are incomprehensible to me right now, he actually gives a damn about you!"

"Well, maybe I don't want him to care about me!"

"Clearly," she replied coolly. "Listen to me, John Tracy, and listen good, because I am only going to say this once. Speaking as your sister-in-law, and as a doctor, I am telling you that you need to accept the fact that you need help. From there, you need to accept the help you're being given. You want to try taking antidepressants instead of throwing them in the bin, like you did the last time? Fine, I'll write you a prescription and you can start taking them. You want to attend some AA meetings? Someone will fly you to the mainland so you can. You have so many people that want to help you, but for that to happen, you need to help yourself."

Having said her piece, she stormed out of the lounge room, dragging Gordon along with her. From the sofa, Virgil raised his eyebrows at his father.

"You know she's going to talk Gordon into flying her and their kids over to the mainland to be with Scott."

"Scott's a lucky man, then. He's got the unconditional love of a good woman."

A moment of sobering silence.

"You overstepped the mark with Scott, Dad," Virgil pointed out.

"I know. I didn't even give him a chance to explain," Jeff sighed. "I was just worried about the implications this would have in regards to International Rescue. I'll give him a call now."

Virgil held up a forestalling hand. "Give Scott some time to cool off. Meanwhile," he flicked his head in John's direction. "You have another son you could attend to."

* * *

><p>To his credit, now that he knew the truth behind Scott's dual personas, Special Agent Perry did try his best to convince the District Attorney to let this particular case go. As far as he was concerned, based on his own personal opinions, the world needed International Rescue more than they needed one hyped-up-by-the-media trial.<p>

The District Attorney, however was adamant that charges would be brought against the perpetrator of the crime.

"It's an election year," the DA explained to Perry. "If I don't press charges against Tracy, and it leaks out to the media – don't tell me it won't happen, because these things have a way of sneaking into the public domain – it will appear that I've been bribed into accepting a deal, thanks to the net worth of Mr Tracy's personal assets, or I'm letting him go because he's a Tracy. I do that and I'll never get re-elected by the people of San Francisco."

Mark Perry stared on in shock, astounded by what he was hearing. There was nothing compelling in the spiel he had just been fed; to Perry, it just sounded like a heap of selfish waffle, riddled with politics.

"Listen, Perry, the security of my job affects the security of your job. If I'm not here to prosecute the bad guys, there is no point in you toiling away to catch them."

Put that way…. But that explanation didn't stop Perry's skin from crawling as he thought of a member of International Rescue being accused, charged and tried for Murder One.

"Look, I don't want to do this to International Rescue members, but I'm afraid I have to. However, I'm not going to sign an arrest warrant right now. I'm not asking you to mosey on down to Tracy's place of residence and slap the handcuffs on his wrists this instant. It'll buy you time to re-examine all the salient points in this investigation, confirm that Tracy is the one I'll end up charging. You need to be damn sure about this, because I don't want to tarnish the reputation of International Rescue by initiating an unnecessary arrest."

Perry nodded. There was no exculpatory evidence to suggest otherwise. The man from International Rescue was his primary suspect.

"The Haddon case is coming to trial soon, and International Rescue are part of the prosecution's case. He's needed to testify, and he can't do that if he's in custody awaiting trial. So, no, I'm not going to sign his arrest warrant now. Though, if you can't find any evidence that clears him, I will have no choice but to sign the warrant."

* * *

><p>From where he slouched in an armchair, Scott Tracy stabbed moodily into his cup of instant noodles. His father hadn't even given him a chance to defend his actions; Jeff had just torn strips into him. Had Scott been able to fully explain the situation, and justify his choices and actions, he knew that he would have been able to prove that what he did was for the best.<p>

But, no.

The stressed out Tracy heir hadn't been granted that option.

Another moody stab into his instant noodles, slopping some water onto his shirt, jumping as his watch vibrated.

"What?" he barked into it, fully expecting to hear his father's voice.

"Jeez, Scott, it's nice to hear your voice too."

He facepalmed. His wife; and he had bitten her head off for no reason.

"Sorry, baby, I thought you were –"

"Your father? Nope, just me." A pause. Scott could feel green eyes scrutinise him. "Scott? I know you did what you did with the best of intentions. I trust you on that."

A non-committal shrug from Scott. "Dad doesn't."

"Well, your father's worried too, and he needed to blow off steam."

A beat of silence. Unspoken language only they knew communicating for them. Understanding and acceptance from one party to the other.

"Do you want us to bring anything for you when we get there tomorrow?"

Scott glanced up at the watch screen in surprise.

"You're bringing the kids and you're coming over here? Tash, I don't think that's a good idea. I'm here indefinitely and this may get a tad bit messier as time progresses."

"And that's all the more reason for us to be there," she responded tartly. "Scott, like it or not, you have three little kids that need their father in their life. A few video calls a day to them for an undetermined period of time is not going to work. Melissa, Luke and Nick, they all need their father. If that means coming to you, then so be it. And if you really think that this situation will become more complex, then you'll need us for support. I've already talked to Gordon; he's happy to ferry us over to the mainland. So, yes, we're coming."

A soft chuckle from Scott. Having been married to his partner for almost five years, he knew when to call it quits in a dispute.

"I'm not going to win this round, am I?"

"No, you are not."

Another soft chuckle from Scott. After his crappy day, it felt good to laugh again.

"I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Yes, you will. Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"I love you."

A smile from Scott this time, radiating from the inside out. "Ditto."

* * *

><p>Leaning against the balcony, John took a long drag on his cigarette before exhaling out a plume of smoke. He was so close to breaking point, so close to releasing all the pent up emotions he had stored up for six months. But, he wasn't over the edge yet. A few more cigarettes, and maybe a raid of Kyrano's cooking cherry, and he would be back in control.<p>

"I thought you'd run out of cigarettes."

Startled, John spun around, scowling at the intruder. "Yeah, well, I found the remains of Scott and Virgil's stash. Since they've given up, I figured they wouldn't miss it. I'm doing them a favour."

A deep sigh. John couldn't tell if it was disapproval or despair.

"You know, John, she wouldn't want you to live this way."

John raised his left shoulder. How did his father know what his dead fiancée would have wanted for him? Could his father communicate with the dead? John didn't think so.

"It doesn't do anyone any favours, least of all, yourself."

Another shrug from John. Marrying the love of his life, starting and raising a family together, that was all but a distant memory for the peroxide haired man. What did he have to live for now?

"And even though it seems to help, it really doesn't. It masks the pain but it never heals it. I know, because I was just like you when your Mom passed on."

Something inside John stilled, and he absentmindedly ground out his nicotine stick on the railing of the balcony. John couldn't remember his father ever mentioning his mother after her death.

"The whiskey bottle and sleepless nights became my best friend. I would work for money, and then I would squander it all on drink. I didn't leave much left for you boys at home." Jeff swallowed; voice gruff and deep.

"I disgusted myself with what I was doing, but I couldn't bring myself to stop. I couldn't rip off the Band-Aid I had applied to a cut that needed stitches."

John bored holes into the elder Tracy. Was there a point to this, or was his father waffling on for no reason?

"One day, and please don't ask me why, because I don't know, but one day, I heard her voice in my head, berating me for what I was doing. So, I did what your mom would have wanted me to do. And, no, John, it's not easy; the first few days, I felt like jumping off a cliff because I couldn't satisfy my addiction. But it gets easier, which is how I know you can change this around."

More silence from John.

"John, Jade wouldn't want you to live like this. If you won't change for yourself, then do it for her."

And that was the catalyst. John could feel tears he had worked so hard to suppress rise to the surface, ready to spring from his eyes. Jeff, sensing the change, pulled his second eldest into a tight embrace.

"Y'know, John, I wish I had told you this before, but it's okay to cry if you need to. You don't have to keep it all inside anymore."

Unable to hold it in any longer, John howled six months' worth of anguish, anger, frustration, despair and pain into his father's shoulder. Jeff could feel his shirt become saturated as John released his pain, but it didn't matter. The welfare of his son was infinitely more important to him than a soggy shoulder.

"John, one more thing; it takes a brave man to admit that he can carry on in the world by himself, but it takes a braver man to admit that he needs help, and then to accept it graciously. John, I want you to know that if you ask for help, we will gladly give it to you. You are not in this alone."

Raising his tear-stained face from his father's shoulders, John stared his straight in the eye.

"Dad," he said, voice surprisingly steady after his crying jag. "Dad, please, help me."


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety.**

**Again, another monumental thank you to the readers and reviewers. It really does mean a lot.**

**Another busy week this week; I handed in my first official uni assignment and I didn't set myself or my lab partner on fire. It was a good week, so I thought I'd give you an update. And with Easter coming up soon, I get a week off from uni. I'm loving this timetable. Except for Mondays. And Thursdays... anyway, enough about my mundane life. Onwards with the chapter.**

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Five

With his bag packed and Gordon preparing the lightweight jet for the flight to the mainland, John stood beside his father, munching on his vegetable sandwich for lunch. Jeff clapped a hand on John's shoulder, squeezing it slightly as he took in his son's gaunt face, skin stretched too tight over his bones. It was a good thing that John had come to his senses and was willing to take the first steps in regaining control over his life. It helped too, knowing that Scott had organised things for John so that John could stay with family during his recovery process. Despite the way things sat between him and his eldest son, Jeff was genuinely grateful for the fact that Scott had set up room for John in such a short amount of time.

"Now, listen, John. You just focus on getting yourself better, okay?" Jeff instructed in his fatherly manner. "Don't worry about natural disasters, man-made devastations, or International Rescue. You just get yourself better."

John swallowed, "I will, Dad. After six, coming up to seven months, I think I need the help."

"And you'll call if you need to talk, or let off steam, won't you, John? I don't care if you wake me up in the middle of the night; I will always have the time to listen to you."

"I know, Dad."

"Scott'll be at the other end to pick you and the others up."

Like John expected any less from his big brother. Still, he was a little apprehensive about seeing Scott again, especially after their last encounter, where he had shoved Scott aside, something he wasn't exactly proud of. Willing to make amends, John was prepared to apologise to Scott; he just wondered how Scott would take that apology. Would he accept it graciously and move on, or would he shrug it off and remain aloof with his oldest-little brother? John had no idea.

With the plane Gordon was piloting taxiing up to the runway; Jeff knew his time with John was drawing to a close.

"Now, you go on and get back to the gentle John we love," Jeff said gruffly, walking John to the plane.

John turned his head, letting his quiff fall over his eyes at a forty-five degree angle. "Dad, will you be there?"

It took Jeff a few moments to work out what John was referring to. Belatedly, he realised that his son was talking about the Haddon case, the one where his fiancée's murderers would be put to justice. It started in a week.

"Yes, I'll be there. This is one of those times when a son needs his father by his side."

Now it really was goodbye for the father and son duo. With Gordon, Tash and the kids already on the plane, John was the only one left for boarding the flight.

"Dad, thanks for letting me do this," John murmured tentatively, placing his feet on the steps to board the plane.

"John, I will not stop you from doing anything that benefits your welfare."

Passing the carry-on bag up to John, Jeff waved to his family as Gordon raised and closed the door to the plane. Standing off to the side, Jeff waited until the plane had lifted off and disappeared over the horizon, before turning back to head to the villa.

* * *

><p>It was with a twinge of panic that Scott set foot into the arrivals terminal of the airport. Even though Gordon, John and the others were flying in on a private jet, they were still subject to customs checks when they arrived on the mainland, so Scott knew that it could take a while for them to emerge from the secured area. The twinge of panic came from the fact that he knew he was still being tailed by FBI agents. After surrendering his passport in an attempt to assuage the FBI's fear of him fleeing the mainland, it was still a bit nerve racking to be followed to an airport. Scott hoped that his shadows noted that he was in the arrivals hall, instead of a departure lounge, but his presence in the airport could have indicated that he was still a flight risk, passport or no passport.<p>

_Still, no time to dwell on that now._

That was true; the Tracy heir could just make out John's peroxide shock of hair, and he could hear the three holy terrors he called his children squealing stampeding their way towards him.

Luke, Scott's eldest son, was the first to reach him, catapulting himself into his father's arms. Scott wrapped up the three year old into an embrace before hoisting Luke up onto his shoulders.

"You've been good for Mommy?" he asked, running a hand through his son's hair.

"Yes, Daddy," the little boy replied, a trace of a Gordon-grin gracing his face.

By now, the rest of the party had made their way to Scott, with John laden with all the bags.

"Oh? So if I ask her," Scott broke off, shooting a look to his spouse. "She'll agree?"

"Yes, for once, she will."

A quick kiss to his spouse, a hug to his daughter and he took his youngest son into his arms when the infant clamoured for his father. Guarded blue eyes regarded the blond Tracy.

"John." Just a few degrees short of freezing.

"Scott."

_Clearly holding a grudge. Well, that'll teach you and your bad mood._

"Shall we go?" John offered, hoping the comfort and privacy of the family's mainland apartment would allow Scott the opportunity to warm up to him. He also hoped it would be easier to offer a more sincere apology there.

As Scott nodded and began to lead the way out, John's stomach grumbled, a thunderous noise which was audible, echoing in the arrivals hall. As though he was trying to muffle the sound, John folded his arms over his tummy, hunching slightly.

"Hungry?" Scott's voice floated back towards John.

"That obvious?"

"Well, we're having dinner soon, so if you can hold out for about half an hour, that'd be great."

John grinned at the prospect of food. "What's for dinner?"

"Fish."

The grin slid off John's face. While John was not a finicky eater, fish was definitely not his favourite food. Having come to the conclusion that Gordon was actually an aquatic creature in disguise, John felt that eating fish was almost like eating Gordon. Pulling a face, John asked, "Is there a choice?"

A hint of amusement in Scott's voice as he issued out his response, the same one their grandmother had used on them when they were growing up.

"Of course there is. Take it or leave it."

* * *

><p>The gentle piano melody wafted through the air, as Virgil allowed his hands to glide easily over the ivory keys. Sated after the fabulous meal Kyrano had created, Jeff Tracy sat behind his desk, chin resting on interlocked fingers with a tumble of whiskey beside him. Leaning against the doorway, plate of food in hand, Gordon made a comment to startle Jeff out of his reverie.<p>

"Penny for your thoughts, Dad?"

"They'd cost you a dollar," Jeff quipped, taking a sip of his whiskey, letting the amber liquid burn a trail down his throat. Setting the tumbler down on a coaster, Jeff's tone turned to serious. "I was thinking about International Rescue, and how maybe we should consider enforcing a temporary hiatus."

A discordant sound as Virgil abruptly stopped playing.

"_What?"_

The piano stool scraped along the floor as Virgil stood up abruptly, muscles flexing and contracting so fast Jeff could almost hear them twang.

"You can't do that!" Gordon added in his protests. "What's the point of International Rescue if you choose when we can and can't save people?"

"Gordon!" Jeff snapped, infuriated at the tone his second youngest had adopted. "Do not talk back to me that way! I am still your father, I am still the head of International Rescue, and I am still the person who gets to call the shots! We _are_ taking a temporary hiatus."

From the piano, Virgil marched his way over to his father's desk and leaned heavily on it, looming down over Jeff. A clear change of hands in the power play that was unfolding.

"This is bullshit!"

"Virgil!" More or less a strangled yell from Jeff.

"No! We have marched barefoot through an inferno we call hell over the past six months, and we have come out on top! Alan has, Gordon has, Scott has, I have, and even John has, to an extent! What the fuck was that for, if you close us down at the first sign of difficulty?"

"It's not practical to keep International Rescue running!" Jeff thundered, frustrated that he was being met with opposition. "We're short staffed as it is! I can't afford to send you boys out there. Not if something drastic were to happen to you." Jeff's voice dropped to a whisper. "I can't do it. I can't."

And there was the crux of the problem. The father wanted to keep the sons safe, and damn the rest of the world. As far as Jeff was concerned, with events unfolding as they were, the closer he could keep his sons to him, the easier it was for him to have a watchful eye on them, the better.

"We're not actually short staffed," Gordon pointed out after a moment of uncomfortable silence. "If you bring Alan down from Five, and place the space station onto an automatic relay system, we'll have the numbers we need to run on minimum manpower. I know it's not ideal, but it's a lot better than condemning thousands of innocent people to their death because you can't take risks with us."

"I never thought I'd live to say this, but Gordon's right," Virgil backed. "There have been too many victims in this mess already. Let's not add to it. We need International Rescue, Dad, just as much as the world needs us. Please, don't let the last six months have been in vain."

* * *

><p>It was time, John knew, for him to man up and face the music with Scott. Pushing his peroxide blonde forelock out of his eyes, John shoved his hands deep into his pockets before calling Scott over. With a sigh, Scott made his way over, carrying his baby boy in his arms.<p>

"What is it, John?"

"I... umm… I just wanted to chat, like we used to."

A perceptive nod. "Let me put Nick down to sleep first, and then I'll be there."

John watched Scott retreat towards the bedroom, whispering quietly to his son, and he felt a rush of jealousy skewer through him. He would never know what it was like to have a son, to have someone to guide through life, protect them and nurture them until it was time to let them go. He would never know what it was like to hold a huge part of his world in his arms and know that everything was alright. He would never be able to use his non-existent children to help recapture moments of his childhood that he thought he had lost forever. The grief reared its ugly head, pain in his chest blossoming anew. To counteract it, John headed for the nearest bottle of alcohol. He wrestled with the screw-top lid, finally loosening it and flinging the cap to the side and raised the bottle to his lips.

"Don't do it, John."

Well, that was almost daring him to take a sip.

"If you want to get help, you need to help yourself, and this isn't the way to go about it. Trust me, I speak from experience. Put the bottle down and then sit down."

There was something in his voice, a steely undertone that made John comply. The bottle of alcohol was placed back on the table. Not taking any chances, Scott simply poured the drink down the sink.

"You wanted to talk?"

"Yeah." John puffed out a breath. "I'm sorry for the way I've been treating you over the past six months. It wasn't fair of me, and I know you were just trying to help."

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn't that. Scott was rather taken aback, to say the least.

"It's okay, John. These past few months haven't been a barrel of laughs for you either."

"No, it's not. You're my brother, and you didn't deserve to be treated that way."

A moment of consideration.

"No, I didn't. But you didn't deserve the shit we're going through right now. Just luck of the draw."

A beat of silence. Scott took the opportunity to regard his little brother.

"You know it's not going to be easy, John. I'm speaking from experience."

"I know," he replied, just as quietly as Scott had been. A trip down memory lane to a time where Scott had been addicted on illicit drugs after the death of their mother was not something he wanted to do right now. Belatedly, her realised just how much he had followed in his brother's footsteps. It was time for that to stop. It was time for him to take a leaf out of Scott's book and get himself back on track. Jade would have wanted that for him.

"But a few people made me realise that it was time to pull my head out from my ass and take control of my life again. I mean, if I let this destroy me, it means they win, right?"

A grin tugged at the corner of Scott's mouth. "Tash been talking to you?"

"She gave me the verbal tongue lashing, as did other people, including yourself. It was the wake up call I needed."

Rubbing at his eyes, Scott stifled a yawn under his hand. "Want to know something?"

John shrugged.

"It's hard in the beginning, but it gets easier. I mean, it's been fifteen years since I overcame my addiction, but I still go to meetings when I have the chance. You're doing the right thing, John."

Another shrug from John.

Stifling a yawn and rubbing his eyes, Scott cocked his head sideways. "I'll be taking you to the AA meeting tomorrow. No disputing this; Dad's orders. Anyway, I'm gonna get some sleep now. Lock up when you're done."

A wave goodnight as Scott retreated into the recess of the flat. Content that he had closed the rift that threatened to form between him and Scott, John settled back into his chair and smiled softly. Six months on, and he could start to see the light at the end of a tunnel that had been marked with pain and despair.

_And the light really is a light, not the end of E.T's finger._

For John, regaining control of his life was forming a tangible reality. For him, things were beginning to look up.


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety.**

**Just a quick update for the week. A bit shorter than usual (the Easter tale almost killed the mojo for this one), but it just seemed right to stop it there. **Another huge thank you to everyone that has been reading and left a review. It really is good to kno**w that you're enjoying (well, maybe not the best word to use, but I'm tired and my brain really isn't functioning) the story and the set up so far.**

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Six

"_In local news, the Mackenzie murder trial begins today, with the prosecution's opening. In addition to the charges of murder, the two defendants are also being brought up on charges of conspiracy to murder and attempted murder of two members of International Rescue. It is speculated that key members from the organisation will be attending the trial today as material witnesses for the prosecution…"_

From under the duvet cover, a hand shot out to silence the radio. It was not something he wanted to hear, first thing in the morning. Content in the blissful silence, he withdrew his hand and continued to doze.

But not for long.

"Get up, Scott. You set the alarm for a reason."

Shaking at his shoulder. Warm skin on skin contact would normally rouse him, but not today.

"Just five more minutes, Tash," he groaned, burrowing his head further into his pillow. "I'm tired after last night's tours-de-force."

"No. You have to get up now, or you'll be late. Not something your father would approve of."

The hand pulled off the covers, much to his protests.

"You have to go to court today, and John will need your support."

That was true. It wasn't about him; it was about John, and how the events that had transpired on that rescue had precipitated his downward spiral. Pushing himself up into a sitting position, Scott scrubbed his hands over his face, rubbing the sleepy-dust out of his eyes. "I really hope that this gives him some kind of closure."

"It will. It'll give you some closure too."

Laser beam, blue eyes stared down green ones.

"I know you, Scott; I've been married to you long enough to know how you think. You won't stop seeing the abductors as your adversaries until you thwart them. In this case, the way you win is when the jury come back with a guilty verdict and they're incarcerated. Then, and only then, will you be able to let go of this. Also, you've been kind of forgetful this past week, and you only get that way when you're stressed out and worried."

That was true too. Knowing she was right, and duty bound to help his little brother during the trial, Scott made to move for the door.

"Scott?"

Rolling his eyes, one hand on the door handle, he twisted his upper body. "Yes?"

"Go help your little brother. It's the only way you'll help yourself."

* * *

><p>Dressed in one of the many business suits he owned, with the tie hanging loosely around his neck, John sipped delicately at his strong mug of coffee. Today was the start to the rest of his life.<p>

But it would never be enough.

Like his father before him, he was against the death penalty, even though it was a viable form of punishment in the state of California. What would killing two people do, John had reasoned rhetorically. Would it bring his dead fiancée back to life?

No, it wouldn't.

So what was the point?

"Jeez, John, you look terrible. Did you get any sleep last night?"

So it was obvious, John huffed to himself, rubbing at bloodshot eyes, running a hand over a cheek that had a fine layer of stubble growing on it.

"Not much, no," John sighed, setting his mug down on the table. Groaning, he buried his head in his hands, fingers gripping his hair tightly.

"Problem?" Scott asked, tone artificially light as he dropped into the seat opposite John and snaffled his coffee.

Looking up, John tried to snatch the mug away from Scott, but it was too late. Face set in stone, anger radiating from his body in waves, Scott glared heavily at John.

"I'd say we do have a problem. Brandy in your coffee, John?"

John's face screwed up, just as angry, as he hissed venomously, "You wouldn't understand!"

"Then make me! Make me understand!" A hand slammed down on the table top, emphasising his point. "I thought the point of you coming here was so that you could pull yourself together, but what the hell was the point in that if you've been stashing alcohol away for all this time?"

"I wanted to smooth out the rough edges! I'm going to be face-to-face with her parents, the people who most likely blame me for her death, and with the people who murdered her for the first time in six months! I wanted… no, I needed to smooth out the rough edges!"

"Well, you don't need to do it this way!" With purposeful strides, Scott marched to the sink and poured the tainted drink down the drain. "Where'd you get the brandy from, John?"

Silence.

"John, if you don't tell me, I have no problem with searching your room. Believe me when I say that I will turn it upside down and inside out before I'm satisfied with your answer."

The threat was enough to motivate John into handing over a small hip flask, which Scott poured down the sink.

"I've failed," John muttered despondently, slouching in his chair. "Fallen off the wagon before I had barely clambered on board it."

"There's no such thing as a failed attempt, John," Scott counselled. "You know how long it took me to get off the drugs as a teenager?"

"One try? I mean, you pretty much succeed at everything you attempt. You're like Superman."

"Seven. It took me seven tries before I kicked the habit, and even with all the support I was given, even with Grams' attitude-adjustment-claps when I crawled back to the drugs, because, let's face it, I'm no Superman. And look at me now! So, no, there's no such thing as a failed attempt. There are attempts, and then there's success. And, yeah, you'll stuff up, and you will fall a fair few times. The important thing to do is to get back up on that horse and not just wallow in self-pity."

Some more silence from John. He eyed the coffee machine, wondering, albeit briefly, if Scott would trust him enough to make himself another mug. The answer to the that question was a resolute no, as Scott had placed a new cup of coffee in front of his brother.

"Drink this, scrub up and we leave to meet the others in an hour."

* * *

><p>"Virgil! Gordon! Alan! Out here, now!" Jeff hollered, straightening the knot in his tie. Of all the days for his sons to dawdle, this wasn't it. John had extracted a promise from his father, where Jeff had categorically stated that he would be there throughout the duration of the trial to support his second oldest son; Jeff wasn't a man to break his promise or go back on his word.<p>

Virgil sloped into the room first, looking sharp in a business suit, with his International Rescue uniform draped over one arm. "Gordon's just coming and Alan's still primping his hair."

As Jeff silently fumed, tapping his foot and pointing at his watch, indicating that they were already behind schedule, Virgil held up one hand in mock surrender. "Hey, Dad, don't shoot the messenger."

Finally, Gordon and then Alan put in an appearance, their International Rescue uniforms slung over their shoulder.

In the lead up to the trial, it had been decided that while the International Rescue counterparts had been called up by the prosecution to testify, they would enter the Courthouse under the guise of their 'public' persona. Gordon had the foresight to point out that with the media frenzy with this case; they stood a better chance of protecting their identity if they didn't appear as International Rescue until they were safely ensconced within the confines of the Courthouse. Seeing the logic in the suggestion, Jeff agreed with Gordon, and arranged for a secluded area, away from other sequestered witnesses, for them when they were International Rescue.

With Jeff hustling his sons along, they boarded the plane that would fly them to San Francisco. Alan and Gordon settled down into the passenger cabin while Jeff and Virgil took their seats as pilot and co-pilot respectively.

"You okay, Virgil?" Jeff asked, noting that his son's posture was unusually stiff, as though Virgil's back had been Sellotaped to a metal pole. Shoulders hunched up and tense too, resting just below his ears, his knee bouncing with a kind of nervous energy, something that only affected Virgil when he was stressed out.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

The knee jerked even more violently. Virgil clamped a hand down on his thigh to stop it, but there was no point.

"They'll be held accountable for what they did to you, Virg. Make no mistake about it, they will be held accountable for torturing you the way they did."

"It's not that." Virgil swatted away the words, dismissing them easily. "It's just… this seemed so far off into the future before, and now the day where we testify is here. I just didn't think it would be this soon."

A deep sigh from the chestnut haired man. A confession breaking forward.

"Dad, I can't do it. I can't testify against them. I'm not ready to let go of this. Even when this trial is over, even when the jury come back with a guilty verdict, it will never be over for me. I'm not ready for this. What if the jury judge my actions and view them as wrong? What's going to happen to the outcome of the trial then? I don't know much about law, and I don't know if the jury can do that, but it worries me. We need this win for John."

"No, Virg, you are ready for this. I know that you are resolute enough, resilient enough, to pull through this and come out of it a stronger man. And you did nothing, _absolutely nothing_, wrong on that rescue. Anyone with half an eye could see that."

A small smile from Virgil, tentative and brief, but it was genuine. Sometimes, his father knew just what Virgil wanted to hear.

* * *

><p>With the sense of familiarity, as though he was welcoming back an old friend, John pulled the polo-neck top of his uniform over his head. Damn, but it felt good to be back in the blue uniform. He had missed it, but the only person he could pin the blame on for that was himself.<p>

Another reason for him to get back to his old self.

From beside him, Scott chuckled as he pulled on his sash and twirled his hat around in his hands.

"What?" John asked, wondering what could have been so amusing.

A self-depreciating snort from Scott. "Don't tell Tin-Tin this, since she and Grams designed the uniform, but every time I wear the hat, all I want to say is _would you like to supersize your burger order?_"

John rolled his eyes. He, too, disliked the hat that had been designed for the uniform. If John had managed to have his way, they would have all been sitting pretty in fedoras.

"Channelling your first job again, Scott?" John smirked.

"Hey, I flipped burgers, like a pro. You, on the other hand, had to wear the moulding fur bacon strip to be the mascot of _Better Bacon Burger Bars_. Now, I can only speak for myself, but I would take wearing the burger-hat over a wearing dead animal any day."

Knowing that Scott had a point, as usual – did the guy have to be right every single time? Would it kill Scott to be wrong? – John flopped into a vacant seat, shooting a look at his watch.

"John, they'll be here."

"Promise?"

A cocky grin, pearly whites gleaming under the white lights.

"Johnny, in all the years I've been your big brother, have I ever been wrong?"

And just to prove Scott right, once again, the other members of International Rescue breezed into the room.

Away from prying eyes, the obligatory greetings ensued. In the presence of his favourite brother, Virgil could feel his insides calm down by several degrees. With the presence of his family, and the fact that he could draw on the strength that their proximity gave him, he knew that he could face the source of his pain without worry.

"Good flight?"

"Not too bad. How're things with John?"

Honey-burnt brown and cobalt blue eyes appraised the Tracy in question.

"We've had our ups and downs. Mainly downs, but he just needs to keep at it."

"And you? I know you're still reeling from the verbal onslaught Dad did on you."

A shrug of the shoulders. Heaving a sigh, Scott sat back down onto one of the chairs that had been provided.

"Are we all ready for this?" he asked, ever the Field Commander, taking charge of his troops.

Four determined nods.

"Good. Remember what the prosecutor said; keep your responses straightforward and easy to understand."

"Keep it simple, stupid," Gordon added. It summed it up perfectly.

Alan glanced at his watch impatiently. "Should be calling us up soon," he said, eyes shifting to Virgil. If Virg could keep calm, cool and collected as they faced their adversaries, he could too. Steeling himself, Alan ran a hand over the top of his thigh, feeling the ridge of scar tissue, where the burnt skin had never really healed. It hurt like the blazes, but it served as a just reminder as to why he was there. If he could feel the pain, Alan would make sure that the jury could empathise with it.

A knock on the closed door, sharp and staccato. Virgil was beckoned forward, away from the safety net of his brothers, ready for Armageddon.


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety.**

**Well, it's been a busy month and a bit, but no, I haven't forgotten this. Uni work reared its ugly head and I had to tackle that. Not to mention the end of semester exams that are approaching. ****Such is the life of a first year...**

** As odd as it is (well, maybe not so odd), I tend to put my education before my hobbies - as a future teacher, I'm told that this is something I'm supposed to be encouraging :P**

**Anyway, thank you to all the people who are reading this.**

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Seven

"Please state your name and place of residence for the record."

After being sworn in, Virgil sat in the witness box, right knee bouncing slightly out of nerves. Glancing up at the judge, Virgil narrowed his eyes slightly.

"Your name will suffice," Judge Seers amended.

Nodding in agreement, Virgil answered the question. "International Rescue Operative Three. You can call me Op Three for short, if you want."

A flash of a winning smile to the jury, just to get them on his side. Not that they needed much persuasion; they were staring at him in awe, jaws practically dropping at seeing a member of International Rescue in the flesh.

"Alright, Op Three," the DA offered a small smile up at Virgil, just to put him at ease. Even though they had run through the testimony an infinite number of times before the trial began, there was always a risk that things would not go as they had rehearsed. Emotions of the victim, the cross examination by the defence, they were all variables that could not be measured, quantified and counteracted until the trial had started. Those factors all had the power to sway which verdict the jury would deliver.

"Could you tell us exactly what happened on the 24th June, then?"

A deep, calming breath in by Virgil.

"We… International Rescue had received a request for help in San Francisco. Within an hour of receiving the call, we had responded and arrived on scene."

"Could you describe the type of call out you were responding to?"

"It was a fire in a chemical plant. Plenty of compounds with a high flash point, which meant that it was easy to ignite. This meant that traditional methods of fire fighting were rendered useless and we had to use a special formula to douse out the flames. In addition to that, there were hundreds of civilians employed within the chemical plant who were trapped, so our priority was to rescue them as well."

"Op Three, this sounds like your basic, run-of-the-mill rescue. What made this one so different?"

Careful consideration on Virgil's part. What he was about to say wasn't what needed consideration; it was the manner in which he would relay his version of events to the jury. He knew he had to appear emotionally stable for the jury to give his statement credibility and due consideration.

"The difference between this rescue and others I have participated in was that I was forcibly taken and held captive against my will. The captors had smashed a pipe against the back of my head, before smothering me until I was unconscious. It was the only way to get the jump on me; if I could have, I would have fought back."

A collective gasp from the jurors. Inwardly, Virgil rolled his eyes. What were they expecting?

"You were taken and held against your will," the DA repeated slowly, emphasising the point. "Can you tell us what happened next?"

Muscles tensed. Hands curled into fists. Six months on, and anger still raged through him. Letting sleeping dogs lie was something Virgil could do well, but only once the hounds had been put to sleep.

"No, I can't. Not for a few hours, at least. As I've mentioned before, the captors rendered me unconscious. When I came to, I found out that I had been constricted in my ability to move. I was assaulted by the person who had taken me. They backhanded me across the face repeatedly, they used steel capped boots to kick me and inflict damage to my body. At that point, the worst of it was when they broke my nose in two different places."

It was at this point that the prosecutor entered x-rays and scans of the injuries Virgil had sustained as evidence to the jury, along with ongoing physical reports from physiotherapists, doctors and members of rehabilitation staff.

"After that, they proceeded to break almost every bone in my body by kicking me with steel capped boots, before they transported me to the location where I was found."

A beat of silence, so the severity of the situation Virgil had been placed in could sink in for the jury members.

"Was that all the abductors did to you?"

A swallow. Virgil shook his head, rendered speechless for a moment as he relived all the full-blown fear, panic and despair he had experienced at the hands of the defendants.

"Let the record show that the witness has issued a non-verbal response, by shaking his head," the DA stated.

Another deep breath from Virgil. Hidden in the witness box, his fingers curled into themselves, forming fists, his fingernails biting into his flesh.

"They secured a Matryoshka grenade in my mouth and left me tied to a chair, dangling from the top of a clock tower." Seeing the puzzled, blank looks on the faces of the jury, Virgil knew he had to explain what a Matryoshka grenade was. "The grenade was like a Russian doll – one explosive was encased within another, and each one went off in hourly increments. It has the power to do extensive damage, especially if it's located in a confined area, such as my mouth."

A warning glance from the District Attorney. Virgil bit the inside of his lip, stopping the verbal onslaught that threatened to waterfall from his mouth, only answering questions as the District Attorney continued to pepper him with pertinent questions, and the defence lawyer feebly interposed his objections, most of which were denied.

"Can you identify the people you kidnapped you and held you against your will?"

This was the moment Virgil had been waiting for. This was the moment he had envisaged in his mind for the past six months. This was the moment that would give him closure on the ordeal he faced. Eyes as hard and cold as granite, Virgil pointed his finger at the two defendants.

"They were co-conspirators. They took me, tortured me and left me for dead!"

Virgil wasn't too surprised when the defence lawyer objected, but as Judge Seers asked both counsellors to approach his bench; Virgil took the time to mentally prepare himself for the culmination of more questions from the DA and from the cross-examination. The cross examination promised to be more gruelling, and emotionally draining, than his initial testimony had been.

* * *

><p>To the Tracy boys, it seemed that as soon as Virgil had sat back down in the room they had been sequestered in, Alan had been called to the stand.<p>

"You okay, Virg?" Gordon asked tentatively.

Virgil, instead of nodding and smiling, heaved his shoulders, as though he was carrying the weight of the world on them.

"No, Gordon, I'm not okay," he replied honestly, trying to maintain a brave face. "But I will be. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine; you'll see."

Virgil's eyes belied the words he spoke, something Scott was quick to pick up on. There was more going on with Virgil, and like the typical big brother he was, Scott intended to iron out the issue before it compounded.

"Gordy, do me a favour?" the Field commander began. "Could you get us something to eat, please? Just make sure you avoid the public eye. Take John with you."

Gordon, being Gordon, saw straight through it, but he pretended to be fooled, just for the sake of it. "Come on, John. I think I can tell when we're not wanted."

"That isn't what I meant, and you know it."

The door closed behind the two brothers, leaving Scott and Virgil in a strangled silence.

"I told you, I'll be fine," Virgil eventually muttered, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes.

"No, you and I both know you won't be fine. What's bugging you?"

"I thought it would be enough." At Scott's quirked eyebrow, Virgil elaborated. "I thought seeing them there; testifying at the trial, letting the world know what they did to me would be enough. I thought I would be able to close this chapter of my life and move on. But I can't. It's not enough. It will never be enough, and it will never be over. And there's so much anger and hatred and so much unbridled, raw, pain, and it's eating me up from the inside out. It's not over. Not by a long shot."

"It won't be over until you're willing to let it go," Scott corrected.

Virgil snorted in derision. "Let it go. Bit rich coming from you. Tell me, have you been able to move on from when the Hood abducted you and buried you alive?"

Careful consideration.

"No," Scott replied evenly. "And that's a failing on my part. But what I did do was find the silver lining to the dark cloud, and I hung onto that. You find your silver lining, and everything else will begin to work itself out. We're not going to come out of this smelling of roses, but we are going to come out of this."

A beat of silence. Gathering what was left of his courage, Virgil knew that if he didn't ask Scott the question that was preying on his mind, he never would.

"Scott?"

"Yeah?"

"About the Hood –" Virgil noticed Scott's shoulders tense up, just a fraction too tight. To a regular bystander, it would have gone unnoticed, but Virgil was anything and everything but a regular bystander. Nevertheless, he ploughed on ahead. "Is there anything you want to tell me? Just between us?"

Cobalt blue eyes, hardened and guarded, flashed dangerously at the chestnut haired man. A warning to Virgil, clearly stipulating that shouldn't mention it again. Virgil stared back, clearly undeterred.

"No, Virg, there's nothing."

Completely unconvincing; there was no hope in hell that the feeble answer had thrown Virgil off. The Mexican stand-off continued, with each Tracy secure in the knowledge that one brother was lying to another. An invisible barrier forming between the two, something that was a rare occurrence.

And so they sat, and waited, with Scott wondering how long he would have to hold a fortified stance against Virgil. Virgil contemplated how to break down the walls Scott had built up around him.

They sat together, and yet they sat apart, ready and willing to weather out the storm that was brewing on the horizon.


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: ****Looking back on my update-to-do list, I should clarify that the reference to Scott being buried alive came from chapters 29 - 32 (I think - it's been a long time) of "Actions and Consequences". Had a few people asking me which story that was in, so I thought I would put it up here. :)**

**The sequel story to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety.**

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Eight

"Please state your name for the record."

A deep breath in from Alan. This was it; his chance to tell his story. His time to seek retribution for the past six months and the long term affects it had on him, through legal means.

"International Rescue Operative Five. Call me Op Five, though. It's shorter and easier to remember."

A quick glance at the jury. The seemed relatively interested in what Alan had to say. But, it was not meant to be. From the corner of his eye, Alan could see an officer of the court make his way over to Judge Seers, facial expression hardened, lips drawn into a thin line. Not a good sign.

Straining his ears, Alan attempted to eavesdrop in on the conversation. As he listened, his heart slammed violently against his ribcage, and threatened to migrate to his mouth. The words, said with a sense of urgency, that were constantly being repeated were "disaster", "Kansas", "potential for considerable loss of life" and "request for International Rescue."

_Screw this, I'm needed somewhere where I can make a difference._

He turned pleading eyes to the judge. The judge ignored him and asked both counsellors to approach the bench so that he could explain the situation to them.

"Your Honour," the DA began, "I am more than happy to continue to present the rest of my case and recall the remaining witnesses at a later date."

Alan shook his head; there was no way that scenario would pan out well. It had been hard enough for the Tracy sons to convince their father to let Alan and Virgil press charges against what happened to them. The logistics of trying to keep International Rescue running as well as have justice served had caused the Tracy patriarch more headaches than he cared to remember. It was unlikely that Jeff, as the spokesperson for International Rescue, would agree to having the others testify at a later date.

There was only one feasible option Alan saw, and his conscience told him that he had to use the option. Virgil wouldn't be happy with what he was about to do, but Alan knew that if he saved one stranger's life – and from what he was hearing, it did seem likely – he would be able to incur his brother's wrath more easily.

"Drop the charges," Alan muttered, fiddling with the canisters on his sash.

Stunned silence. The DA approached the man in the witness box.

"Drop the charges," Alan insisted, somewhat tetchily.

"We need to talk about this," the DA informed Alan, wanting him to know that there were still other avenues that they could pursue if International Rescue wanted to.

"No, we don't," Alan countered, stepping out of the witness box. "Drop the charges. There's somewhere I need to be, and this place isn't it."

The DA took a step towards Alan but Alan moved faster to the courtroom exit. On his wrist, he could feel his watch vibrate. Sparing a glance down at it, Alan saw that a message had been sent through to him.

_Meet us on the roof ASAP. ETA of Two in 10 mins._

Resolute in his stance, Alan issued out his final directive before bolting out of the doors.

"Drop them!"

* * *

><p>The men from International Rescue – minus John, since he was still suspended from duty, and protocol had to be followed – huddled together, strategizing over what their plan of action would be once they reached the danger zone.<p>

"What's the plan?" Alan asked, trying not to laugh as they jumped to the sound of his voice.

"Tin-Tin's flying Two, and we're operating without One, so she's coming to pick us up," Gordon began. "Since it's a vicious snowstorm we're contending against, Tin-Tin's going to be in the medical bay, treating those with minor injuries."

"I know we're headed to Kansas, but whereabouts in Kansas are we going?"

A moment of sobering silence.

"If I had ruby slippers on my feet, I could click my heels three times and say the magic words," Scott said, face pulled taut, stress of the situation clearly showing. "There's no place like home."

Alan gasped in horror. Their grandmother, bless her heart, had refused, point blank, to move over to Tracy Island. While she was more than willing to take several trips a month to visit her family, the matriarch was simply too stubborn to move there. Instead, she insisted on living in the home that had been in the Tracy family since they started tending to the lands, retaining some sense of familiarity in her life, while also keeping the sentimental attachments she had to the place. Thinking of the elderly Tracy made Alan's stomach bubble with dread. Curious eyes asked the question an aghast brother couldn't word out.

"Confirmed as missing, presumed buried alive," Virgil gritted out, chewing on his lip.

"Scott, you have to get her out," Alan insisted, tugging impatiently on Scott's sleeve. "Screw everyone else; you have to get her out alive."

The roar of retro jets could be heard in the background. Eager eyes began to scan the skies for their ride.

"Scott! Promise me you'll focus on Grams first and everyone else second!"

Laser beam eyes flashed on the youngest Tracy. "We remain objective about this rescue to maintain our ability to work in collusion with each other. We treat it like it's a normal rescue situation."

Another beat of silence.

"But it's not a normal rescue!"

"You think I don't know that?" Scott snapped, voice increasing in decibels so he could be heard over the sound of Thunderbird Two coming in for a land so Tin-Tin could pick up the Tracy boys. Well, Two landing wasn't strictly true; Tin-Tin would approach the roof and then lower a People Platform Mover from the hull to pick up the boys.

"Grams saved my life, in more ways than one, and you have no idea how much it pains me to know that the decisions _I_ make are the ones that determine whether we get to her in time! So, yes, we remain objective, we treat this like any other scenario, we take a step back and momentarily forget our personal ties to this to ensure we achieve the best possible result we can. If you don't like that, you can sit in Thunderbird Two for the duration of the rescue."

Mulishly, Alan jutted his jaw out. He had no intention of staying behind, being chastised like he was nothing more than a five year old who had snuck cookies from the biscuit jar after being told he wasn't allowed one, but he didn't approve of the impassive way they were to go about the rescue. "Let my objections to the way this is being handled be noted on record."

"Consider it done."

* * *

><p>It had been a while since Virgil had been back to Kansas, and he had forgotten just how cold the temperature in winter could be. Involuntarily, he shivered slightly.<p>

"The heaters will kick in in a minute, Virg," Tin-Tin assured him. "The heating should help counteract the effects of hypothermia."

A slight shrug of the shoulder from Virgil, which was not a reaction Tin-Tin was expecting. Come to think of it, Virgil seemed to be moving less fluidly than what was normal for him now. She wondered if his muscles were seizing up in the freezing wind, and if the pain that was associated with that accounted for his distractedness.

"Virgil, are you feeling okay?"

A small grunt was the only reply Tin-Tin received. Clearly, there was something preying on Virgil's mind.

"Does this have anything to do with the trial?" Tin-Tin ventured.

Virgil sighed, knowing full well he was talking to Alan's wife; he had to be especially careful in how he expressed his concerns to avoid an Alan-sized tantrum when the youngest Tracy caught wind of Virgil's fears.

"Alan made it out of the courtroom spectacularly fast," Virgil began, keeping his expression neutral. "I just hope he didn't do anything impulsive to achieve that, like dropping the charges."

"Alan wouldn't have done that," Tin-Tin immediately replied, faith in Alan clearly showing through. "This is the first time International Rescue's taken legal action against those that have wronged you. He knows what statement it would project to the world if you testified and they were found guilty. He wants justice just as much as you do."

A goofy grin from Virgil. Glancing around the scenery, he jabbed his thumb behind his back. "I should get back to Scott; otherwise he'll start getting antsy. Thanks for the chat, Tin."

* * *

><p>Hours had drawn on by since International Rescue's dramatic departure from the courtroom, and John and Jeff had retired back to the apartment they were residing in. In a stupor since the news that his mother had been caught up in the disaster reached him, Jeff sank down heavily into a leather armchair.<p>

"Here, Dad, drink this." John handed his father a glass of water.

"Wouldn't happen to have anything stronger, would you?" Jeff asked, hoping for a stiff shot of Scotch as he set the glass down on a table.

John shot the grey haired man a scandalised look.

"Sorry, John. I… I forgot."

"Well, I'm glad one of us can." The words tumbled out, bitter and stark, before the filter between John's brain and mouth kicked into action.

A moment as John registered what he had said, and then he bowed his head in embarrassment. "Apologies, Dad. That was below the belt."

Jeff nodded, dismissing the apology. Steepling his hands together, interlocking his fingers, the greying man rested his chin on his fingertips. He trusted that his boys would to the right thing out in the field, regardless of the personal cost, but a small, selfish part of his wished that they wouldn't do that on this occasion. Not with his beloved mother trapped. In the aftermath of Lucy's death, Josie Tracy had been a tower of strength and a pillar of support for him, helping him raise his boys right while he struggled to balance his work and family life. Now, when the tables had turned, when his mother needed his help, he was damned if he wasn't going to provide it.

"Grams'll be fine, Dad," John reassured, slinging an arm over the older man's shoulders. "She's tough; she'll get through this. Besides, do you really think Scott will let the others go until they've found her?"

Jeff shook his head, taking a sip of water. On his wrist, he could feel his watch vibrate. An incoming call and he hoped it was from Mobile Control.

"Go ahead, Scott."

"We found Grams, Dad. Gordon and Virgil are just securing her, along with the others wounded, in the Sick Bay of Two so they can transport them to the nearest hospital. I've got some civvies, so I'll change into them and stay with Grams until you get here. It makes sense; if I leave the country as IR, I can't get back to Frisco as a Tracy, and you know I can't legally leave the country. Alan is taking One back to Base, and once they drop off their passengers, Virgil's flying Two home as well."

Jeff heaved a sigh of relief and winged a silent pray of thanks to whichever guardian angel was watching over his family.

"How is she, Scott?" John asked.

"Suffering from some broken ribs, quite a bit of heavy bruising, maybe some internal organ damage, shock and hypothermia."

"And the house?"

"It's a write-off. The wooden struts that supported the roof were rotten from the inside out, so it was inevitable that the roof collapsed in under the weight of the snow. That caused a substantial amount of structural stress on the house. It's currently listed as uninhabitable."

"It doesn't matter," Jeff said, elaborating at John's questioning look. "The house can be replaced. Your grandmother can't. I'll take a look at it when I get there." A glance at Scott through the watch face. "You're sure you'll be alright with her overnight? I'd fly out there straight away, but the weather disagrees."

"There's no point flying out tonight," Scott pointed out. "The airports have grounded all flights, inbound and outbound. I'll look after her, Dad. I promise."

With that, the image on the watch face dissolved into static as Scott disconnected the link.

A jubilant, celebratory hug shared between father and son. Satisfied the rescue had progressed smoothly under the less than ideal conditions that International Rescue was operating under, Jeff and John relaxed as best as they could in the hours that followed.


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: An update in three days? You lucky duckies! Thank you so much to everyone that's been reading and reviewing; to know that you're enjoying this makes me feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside. :D**

**The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety. **

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Nine

He hated hospitals. Of that much he knew for sure. He hated the meticulously clean floors - so different to the slovenly state he used to live in after his mother died, despite John's complaints, since they shared a room as kids - the stench of rubber gloves that permanently permeated the air and he loathed the clinical, cold, white rooms patients were prisoned in.

But his grandmother was in one, so he would bite his tongue, man up and endure it. For the first time, their roles had been reversed, Scott realised. Instead of having him shackled to the hospital bed, and having his grandma look after him, she was in his place, and as he was the next of kin that was present, he was making all the major decisions about her treatment. Without his father here for a bit of guidance, he just hoped he was making the right choices to ensure that Josie Tracy had the best chance of a smooth recovery from her ordeal.

"Scotty?" A raspy sound, as the elderly lady pushed the oxygen mask off her face.

From where he sat, Scott leant over and lowered the mask, much to her discontentment. "I'm here, Grams. I'm right here."

"The house."

"Don't worry about it, Grams. The guys and I'll start fixing it up," he reassured her. "You just focus on getting yourself better."

"I was thinking of selling it," Josie whispered, leaning into the hand Scott had placed at her cheek. "I was going to take Jefferson's advice and move out to the island. With the family expanding as quickly as it is, all the great-grandchildren," a slight smile at Scott, as he was the one who was providing most of the new members of the Tracy clan. "I wanted to be as close as possible to you."

This tidbit confession caught Scott's attention. His grandmother had never mentioned any desire to leave the home that had been passed down from Tracy generations. In fact, it was quite the opposite; Grams had been adamant in not leaving their home ground, resisting all methods of persuasion her son and grandsons had employed on her. To the best of his knowledge, no other Tracy had been privy to the matriarch's change of heart.

"Who's going to buy a derelict house now?"

The despondency in the tone of the question planted the seed of an idea in Scott's mind. Naturally, he'd have to talk it over with his brothers first, but he couldn't really see them objecting to buying out and taking joint ownership of the Tracy farmhouse from their grandmother. Even though they weren't living on the mainland any more, Scott was sure that the house would be put to good use, maybe as a drop-in shelter for anyone who was down on their luck and needed a helping hand.

"That's not important," Scott emphasised. "Bricks, wood and mortar, that's all the house is. It can be reconstructed. The memories will be there, whether the house is rebuilt or not. You, on the other hand, are a loving, caring, free-spirited, generous being who is, without doubt, the best cook I know, and someone I am proud to have hanging onto one arm at social gatherings and be able to call my grandmother. That's irreplaceable."

Tears welled in Josie's eyes, and a few spilled out onto her cheeks, at the bare honesty behind Scott's words. Scott drew his thumb up and wiped them away, allowing Josie to really observe at her grandson.

Scotty didn't look so great. His face was gaunt and hollow, skin pulled tight across his skull. Normally bright, cobalt blue eyes were dulled, coupled with dark, shadowed rings under his eyelids. Even his posture screamed out stress when he sat, with his shoulders so hunched they were touching the ends of his ears. Back ramrod straight, too stiff for someone who had just participated in a strenuous rescue.

"Scotty?"

This was what Scott loved about his grandmother. Even in her current predicament, she still looking out for her boys, still watching all those little tell-tale signs that told her that something was not quite right in their world.

"Yeah?"

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

Scott had had no intention of burdening Grams with his problems, but the open invitation and the stress of it all got the better of him. Before he could stop himself, Scott found the verbal waterfall tumbling from his mouth. He let the words slip, telling his grandma about the FBI issues he was having, the fact that he felt that his father didn't implicitly trust him thanks to the aforementioned FBI issues, the sinking gut feeling that something less than favourable would inevitably strike him soon, the added responsibility of getting John back on track, and the outcome of the pending court case.

"I'm just a big screw up all around," Scott said with a self-depreciating chuckle. "But what else is new, then?"

A hefty sigh on Josie's part; she had little to no strength to do more. For a man who had the power to make his brothers feel like they were kings of the world with a few choice words, or even a smile, Scott sure had no self-esteem, reinforcing the low opinion he had of himself.

"I just… I wish I could talk to Mom, have her knock some sense into me before telling me that everything happens for a reason and the chips will fall where they may."

A clumsy pat to his cheek. "Scott Tracy, your mother may not be here to knock some sense into you, but I can. Listen closely, because I shall say this only once. You are _not_ a screw-up, and no matter what happens, I am proud to call you my grandson."

* * *

><p>Alan had thought he was safe and secure, performing routine maintenance on Thunderbird One, but he should have known that Virgil would eventually confront him.<p>

"So," Virgil said easily. "Word has it that you dropped the charges."

"And so what if I have?" The words came out uncharacteristically harsh, but Alan didn't see the point in Virgil berating him. What was done was done, and even if he wanted to, he couldn't change his actions.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" Virgil dropped his voice to a dangerous, harsh, half whisper, making him seem as dangerous as a grizzly bear that had woken up from hibernation early. Never a good idea to poke a volatile animal with a stick, but Alan sometimes ignored good ideas.

Hot-headedness trait shining through, Alan fired back his answer. "Yeah, actually, I do! I went out to a place where people were in need of my help! I saved lives of those who would have otherwise died! I did my job, in other words!"

"But at what cost? How much more shit are we going to have to put up with on rescues?" Six months' worth of rage and anger were finally breaking loose from Virgil; Alan just happened to be there to bear his brother's wrath. Alan became Virgil's unintended victim. Something Virgil didn't mean, but he couldn't help it. Everyone had a limit, and Virgil had long surpassed his.

"I was swinging from a rope noosed around me! I was literally hanging onto my life by a thread! I had five grenades explode in my mouth!" Ashamed at the tears that had formed – damn, he was a Tracy, and Tracy's _never_ cried, no matter what the circumstance – Virgil turned his back to Alan. "Until you found me, I had no idea if you were safe or not, and that hurt the most. More than the pain."

Alan was many things, but despite the teasing comments Gordon shot his way, he wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what Virgil had meant with his last comment. Unsure of how to respond – touchy-feely Oprah moments weren't his forte – Alan, wisely, kept his mouth shut.

"We not Supermen, Alan, and the charges you dropped were the only way to remind that to the world. We're not saints either; we can choose to be selfish if the outcome provides a safer working environment for all of us." Hefting a sigh, Virgil tossed a manila file onto a desk on the gantry. "I hope it was worth it."

As Alan reached for the file and leafed through the loose papers, his gut twisted. Virgil had left behind the medical reports of all the injuries he had sustained. X-rays, CT scans, MRIs, even a mould of Virgil's fractured skull and jawbone had made it in there. Virgil was right, they weren't Supermen. They weren't invincible, nor were they expendable. There was nothing like a bit of heavy emotional blackmail to make Alan feel even worse than he did, and Alan found himself detesting Virgil for using such tactics against him.

But Virgil was wrong. They were a team that had spent the past half-decade dedicating their life to a cause that was greater than their individual being. Why, even when the opportunity presented itself, should they choose to put their own needs above the needs of innocent civilians? Maybe Virgil had forgotten, but Alan was certain that they lived in a utilitarian society; the needs of many people were greater than Virgil and his combined.

No, if he had the chance to replay that moment, Alan would still make the same choice. He would still drop the charges. Out there in the field, he had saved lives, he had made a difference.

Looking squarely in Virgil's hardened, honey-burnt eyes, Alan tossed the file back. "Considering that I saved lives, considering that Grams is still alive, thanks to us, yes, it was worth it." Steely blue eyes flashed in Virgil's direction as Alan thought about what the nightmarish rescue from six months ago had cost him. As a result of the wolves tearing muscles from various parts of his body, Alan could not sire any more kids; he couldn't give his son a little brother or sister. Knowing what Leroy would miss out on, and knowing that there was no way of rectifying the situation pierced a hole through his heart.

"You weren't the only who was hurt that day, Virgil! I carry the scars, John carries scars, Gordon carries them and so does Scott! They're not in plain sight, or maybe they're not physical scars, but that doesn't mean they don't exist! So pull your head out of your ass, stop focusing on yourself and take a look at the bigger picture. Contrary to popular belief, not everything has to revolve around you!"

* * *

><p>Since news had broken that operatives from International Rescue had dropped the charges, Special Agent Mark Perry's full attention had reverted back to his murder case.<p>

With the grace period the District Attorney had given him to re-examine the evidence to see if Tracy could have been cleared, no new, conclusive evidence had been found. It was disheartening, but Perry knew that he would have to be the person to place a member of an esteemed organisation under arrest.

Firstly, he had to battle his way into the DA's office. Fighting through the throng of media that had formed outside the building – they all wanted a statement on how International Rescue's withdrawal from the trial would affect the outcome of the Haddon case – Perry was accidentally jostled by one journalist. The file folder in his hand – the one which held all the evidence and the folder that tied the Tracy family to International Rescue - fell to the floor, papers scattered everywhere.

"Here, let me help," the journalist said, knowing he had caused the mess, kneeling down and gathering up the papers. Curious, his eyes scanned the documents he had in his hands. Oh, boy, he had just stumbled upon the mother of all newsworthy stories. The story he had in mind was much bigger than the Haddon case, and it would set him up for life.

"Do you mind?" Perry snapped, hand outstretched, not wanting to compromise his case with leaks to the media.

"It's all yours," the reporter replied, handing the papers back to Perry as they pushed themselves off the floor.

Without a glance back, Perry marched into the building. Seeking out the office of the person who would be prosecuting his case, Perry closed the door behind him.

"No new evidence," he muttered, handing over the evidence case to the DA.

"I thought as much. You would have informed me if there was."

A beat of silence. Perry opened his mouth, but he was cut off instantly.

"The answer's no, so don't ask me to reconsider. I've already explained the position I'm in."

Wordlessly, the DA handed Perry a folded, official looking piece of paper. Without having to look at it, Perry knew what it would contain.

It was the arrest warrant for Scott Tracy.


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: A monumental thank you to everyone who's been reading this, especially those who've left a review or sent a PM. It really does mean a lot to know that you're enjoying this. **

**The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety. **

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Ten

A new day had dawned, and Gordon Tracy hoisted himself out of the pool, after completing his usual morning ritual of a hundred laps of the pool. Tying a towel that had been left out on a pool lounger around his waist, Gordon padded his way back to the kitchen. Much to his discontent – Alan had come to him to vent about the spat that had occurred a few days ago – Virgil was seated at the table already, his wife sitting beside him. Brother or not, Virgil shouldn't have flayed Alan alive like that, and Gordon was going to set him straight, regardless of the audience they had.

"Morning, Gordon," Virgil's voice chimed from the book he was reading.

Gordon, not one for masking his feelings, simply grunted back a reply as he stared stonily at the coffee maker, thumping his mug underneath the dispenser.

"Problem?"

Gordon flashed laser beam eyes, full of anger and rage onto Virgil. "I'll say," he snarled. "You had no right to lay into Alan like that!"

"Stay out of this, Gordon," Virgil warned, a dark undercurrent of a threat creeping into his voice. "This is between me and Alan; it's none of your concern."

"It becomes my concern when my little brother comes to me, upset because of something you've done. It becomes my concern when it affects the way we work as a team. It becomes my concern when I see you hit a whole new low and know that there's nothing I can do to stop you!"

"You weren't there! You don't know what it was like!" Virgil hissed, standing up abruptly and drawing himself up to his full height to match Gordon, eye for eye. "_I_ was the one they took first! _I_ was the one they tortured! _I_ was the one who had a grenade shoved in my mouth. _I_ was the one that had the grenade explode repeatedly in my mouth. _I_ was the one that had to listen to all the unimaginable things they were going to do to you and not be able to warn you about it!"

A self-depreciating scoff from Gordon. Virg did have a point, but did the chestnut-haired man really think that his comrades, his brothers in arms, weren't there throughout the ordeal?

Just because they hadn't suffered the same way Virgil had, it didn't mean that they weren't there. Gordon was the one who had found the note; he had to live with the guilt that he had been too late to prevent the abductors from taking Virg and Alan. Gordon was the brother that had seen John fall apart when the blond had discovered that his fiancée had been held hostage. Gordon had seen Scott lose all control as their adversaries threatened his family. Gordon had the scars on the tops of his thighs to prove that he was there when Alan was being devoured alive. So, while Virgil was right, while he hadn't been taken hostage, Virgil was wrong in assuming that his brothers weren't there.

"And to have Alan dismiss the charges, it makes that hell I went through seem insignificant!" Virgil's hand grabbed Gordon's coffee cup and slammed down on the table, shattering into thousands of pieces to emphasise his point. Honey burnt eyes darted down to look at it. "Gordon, that coffee cup? That could have been me."

It cut no ice with Gordon, but he was astute enough to know that Virgil was not going to change his stance on the matter.

"You shouldn't have done it, Virg," he offered up after an eternity of silence. "Not like that. You shouldn't have done it."

Honey burnt eyes looked back to his wife. She pointedly looked away.

"Everyone was affected six months ago, not just you," she pointed out delicately. "Gordon's right, Virg. You shouldn't have done what you did."

* * *

><p>A loud wail woke Scott Tracy from a semi dozed slumber. In the darkness, Scott could make out a small, upright shadow clinging onto the bars of the cot in the corner of the room, screaming fit to burst.<p>

"Okay, Nicky, Daddy's coming," he muttered, hauling himself out of bed and making his way over to his son. "Quiet down; you'll wake Mommy and she won't be too happy if you do."

As soon as he snuggled the one year old to his chest, the toddler quietened down. Scott chuckled to himself; all his son wanted was some company. Placing Nick down on the ground, Scott let the just turned one year old crawl out to the living room, where father and son could make as much noise – well, within reason – as they wanted.

"So, Nicky, want to tell Daddy what the fuss was about?"

"Mama," Nick gurgled, coming to a stop and sitting on the ground.

"What, am I not good enough? You drag me out of my nice, warm bed, from my nice, warm wife, to tell me you want your mother instead?"

The comment was teasing, but Nick shook his head vigorously, much to the amusement of Scott.

"Oh, I see," Scott mused, lying tummy-down on the carpet so he was eye-level with his son. Blue eyes regarded green eyes steadily. "Buddy, I know you want Mommy, but you've got to let her rest now. If what Mommy's thinking is happening is true, she's going to need it. Just between you and me, I'm pretty sure it's true. It means you're gonna be a big brother."

Nick let out a delighted giggle at that, almost as though he understood and was looking forward to it, which made Scott laugh as well. Arms outstretched, Nick waited for his Daddy to lavish some more attention onto him.

Gathering the little boy up into another hug, Scott yawned. "Gonna let Daddy go back to sleep now, huh?"

A glance at the clock.

"Actually, never mind. I'd be waking up in half an hour anyway; Daddy and Uncle Johnny have to attend an early morning meeting." He bounced the green eyed boy in his arms slightly. "Come on; let's go get you ready for the day."

* * *

><p>With a heavy heart, Special Agent Perry made his way up to the executive offices of the building, where he was sure he would find his suspect. After testifying in court on some of his cases, this was another thing he had to complete on today's to-do list. Not something he particularly wanted to do, given that he was privy to Tracy's involvement with International Rescue, but deep down, he knew he had to.<p>

The least he could do, though, was to not arrest Tracy in front of his family. As a family man himself, Perry knew that if he was arrested, he would prefer it if it wasn't done in front of his wife and kids.

Flashing his identification caught the PA's eye. From behind her desk, she stood up and asked if she could help him.

"I'm looking for Mr Tracy." Elaborating for the PA, since Perry knew that the two senior Tracy sons were in town, he added, "Scott Tracy."

"I'm afraid you've just missed him; he's just left the office," she replied, shuffling some files away into a cabinet. "If you'd care to leave a message, I'll make sure he gets it when he returns."

"No, I'm afraid that won't do." A shot in the dark, but it was worth a try. "Do you know where he was headed?"

An apologetic shake of her head.

Nodding his thanks, Perry walked out of the office. Much to his discontent – this was a scene he was hoping to avoid – his next stop would be Tracy's place of residence.

* * *

><p>The initial assessment Scott gave him was correct; the house was a complete and utter write-off. Stepping foot into what used to be his childhood home, Jeff had come to see what keepsakes could be salvaged from the wreck after being kicked out from his mother's bedside because visiting hours were over. It was meant to be a small consolation for his mother – after all, a few mementoes of happier times could not make up for the fact that she had lost her home – but he hoped it would be a welcome one.<p>

Hitching up his trousers, Jeff squatted down and began to sift through the rubble. Gordon's fish tank, Alan's miniature Matchbox cars, Virgil's kiddy paint-by-numbers portraits, John's first 'novel' about a solar system his overactive imagination had dreamed up, the teddy bear that had been given to Scott from his birth and had been passed down from brother to brother as the years had worn on, all lost and long forgotten were unearthed. Smiling slightly at the trip down memory lane, Jeff waded through more rubble.

A glimmer caught his eye; crushed glass fragments winking at him, drawing his attention. Placing all the tokens in a cardboard box, the greying man made his way over to the item of interest.

A photo of him and Lucille on their wedding day. It had been a long time since he had seen anything that had a direct link to his late wife, and even though decades had passed, it still hurt, still cut him to the bone whenever he was reminded of her. A soft sigh as he stroked her photographed cheek. He missed her quiet presence, missed her because she hadn't had the chance to see how their boys had evolved into fine, young men and start their own families.

With each and every breath he took, he missed her.

Another deep breath in as he squeezed his eyes shut. He wouldn't let the tear fall. Not now, not when he had to be in control.

From his hip, his portable vid-caller vibrated, drawing Jeff from his reminiscence. Accepting the call, he listened to the voice on the other end of the line, expression growing stonier and stonier until he couldn't contain the response that erupted from within him.

"_What_?"

* * *

><p>Returning home for lunch wasn't something they normally did while they were meant to be at work, but since they had completed most of their work quota for the day, John and Scott didn't see the harm in it.<p>

With the lunch – a round of toasted sandwiches – quickly demolished, and the washing up completed, John and Scott stood on the balcony, adjacent to the lounge, with a clear view of the Pacific Ocean. With his wife out with their kids, he was enjoying the time he could spend with his brother.

"John," Scott spoke up suddenly, breaking the companionable silence between them. "I need you to promise me something."

"As long as it isn't life threatening, or just generally stupid, sure."

"If something happens to me, you and Virg, you'll look after the five of them, right?"

A puzzled frown from the younger of the two. "Scott, what's going on? Why do you think something's going to happen to you?"

"Just promise me, John. You and Virg, you are the guys I trust with this. I need to know that Tash and the kids'll be looked after if I'm gone." There was a note in Scott's voice that John had never heard before. Belatedly, he realised it was anxiety, mingled with fear.

"You know we will," John offered by way of a promise. "Besides, you miscounted; we'll look after the four of them. One wife and three kids. That makes four, unless there's a hidden mistress we don't know about."

"No, one wife, no mistress and four kids," Scott corrected, faint smile playing on his lips. "Tash showed me the glorified pee stick before I went to work. Four kids."

Elated for his brother, John slung an arm around Scott's shoulder. "Congratulations! You're going to be a dad again!"

As happy as he was for his brother, John couldn't quite keep the veiled look of jealousy out of his eyes. Having only just reconciled himself to the fact that he was, and wold always be alone – there would be no one else for him but Jade, and without her, he wouldn't even consider having a child – John found it a little bit depressing to know that his eldest brother would be expanding his family. Still, John reasoned, his misfortune didn't mean that he wouldn't be happy for his brother. On the plus side, within a year, John would have another niece or nephew to spoil rotten.

"Back in a minute, Scotty," John jabbed his thumb backwards. "Doorbell."

Somewhat glad for the intrusion, John bounded to the front door and flung it open.

"Agent Perry. To what do we owe this dubious pleasure?" Tone slightly mocking, but this was the last person John wanted to see.

Perry handed the piece of paper over to John and stepped smartly over the threshold. "Where is he?"

John chewed on his lip as he scanned the arrest warrant. There was no way he was going to sell out Scott. None whatsoever.

"Would you like to be charged with obstruction of justice?"

That drew John's attention. If he was thrown into the slammer, no doubt with Scott, it would be impossible for the blond to keep the promise he had sworn to moments earlier.

"I'm here." Scott's voice came from the doorway connecting the interior of the apartment with the balcony. Eyes dulled down, almost like a man who had just been condemned to death.

Almost, Perry realised, as though he had been expecting it.

"Just do what you have to do."

Approaching his suspect, Perry pulled out his handcuffs and secured Scott's arms behind his back. "Scott Tracy, you are under arrest for the murder of Belah Gaat."

Eye contact between Scott and John, cobalt blue eyes meeting cerulean. John nodded in understanding. Role reversal; he was taking Scott's place as the brother that could provide solutions to problems.

"Don't say a thing, Scotty. I'll take care of everything. Just keep your mouth shut."

John could only watch on, helpless, as his brother, his protector was frogmarched away from him, hands shackled behind his back, as though he was little more than a petty criminal.

* * *

><p>After acknowledging that he understood the Miranda rights that had been read to him, and pointing out that he had nothing to say willingly, Scott took the offer of a phone call. He may have been twenty-nine, and close to approaching his thirtieth birthday, but at that current juncture in time, he felt no older than six. Slightly rattled, Scott needed some words of reassurance from his father.<p>

Holding the phone to his ear as the call connected, Scott could only imagine his father's reaction when he discovered that his eldest son was arrested, and being held in a holding cell over the weekend until his arraignment on Monday.

Finally, after some rings, Jeff picked up the phone.

"Dad, it's me."

"Scotty, is everything alright?"

"Yeah… no. Dad, I don't quite know how to say this, so I'm just going to say it. I've been arrested."

"_What?"_

"They're holding me until my hearing on Monday," Scott continued, knowing that his father was still stuck on his previous statement. "I haven't said a word, not until I get legal representation."

Stunned silence filtered back through the phone line.

"Dad? Can you please say something?"

"I'll get you representation. What's the charge?"

Hesitation on Scott's part. There was no point in beating around the bush.

"They've got me for murder."

Jeff said nothing.

"Dad, I didn't do it. You do believe me, don't you?"

Hesitation, once again, only this time it was on Jeff's part. Stunned beyond belief that his son would even have to ask him that, perplexed when he found out that he was actually considering how to answer that question, Jeff waited a few nanoseconds before his brain kicked into gear and he gave a response.

For Scott, he had waited a few nanoseconds too long, and when his father did reply, his voice lacked conviction.

"Yes, Scott. Yes, I do believe you."


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: Thank you, thank you for everyone who's still sticking with this story, with reading and taking a few moments to leave a word or two behind :)**

**This chapter, to be completely and utterly honest, would not have been what it is without the help from the wonderful Xenitha. Your help and guidance has been so valuable, and you are always willing to clarify points of Californian law for me, especially answering the inane questions I have. Thank you so much for all the help and support you've given me, and for pointing out the bits that don't work. **

Chapter 11

Box of sentimental treasures tucked under his arm, Jefferson Tracy made his way back to the hospital room, face of thunder carved into stone. Mood just as tumultuous, it was something his mother picked up on immediately, despite his best efforts to mask it.

"Jefferson?" The tone was sharp, biting, almost acidic in nature.

"Yes, Mother?"

"What's eating you?"

He should have known. He should have been aware that he couldn't pull a fast one over his own mother. With a sigh, he placed the box down on a table and sat in a vacant chair near the hospital bed.

"There is no easy way to say this," Jeff began, grasping his mother's hand, knowing that she would need some form of emotional support. "So I'm just going to say it. Scott's been arrested and charged with murdering the Hood."

A muffled gasp from Josie, stunned that her sweet, sweet grandson could be charged with such a heinous crime. Murder was not something Scott was capable of; she knew that as well as she knew her own name. How anyone could even suspect that her eldest grandchild could do such a terrible thing was beyond her.

Mind made up, Josie pushed down on her call button. As soon as the nurse responded to her call, she stated her request.

"I would like to be discharged."

"Mother!" Jeff exclaimed, flabbergasted. He was no doctor, but he had enough sense to know that her discharging herself was not a good idea.

"My family needs me, and I will be damned if I am to stay in this… this infernal bed any longer!"

Communicating through eyes, the nurse informed Jeff that she would notify the doctor to talk to Josie about her decision. With the door to her room closing softly, Josie turned imploring eyes onto her son.

"Jefferson, you asked me a long time ago to look after your son. I did, and I've never stopped. Scotty needs us there."

Seeing the resolute expression on his mother's face, Jeff sighed in resignation. Nothing he said would convince her to stop this madness. He would have to settle for a second option. Luckily for him, a plan was forming in his mind, one that would hopefully satisfy Josie as well as ensure that she would not discharge herself before the doctors deemed it safe.

"Mom, if I can arrange for you to be transferred to a hospital in San Francisco, will you please, please not discharge yourself against medical advice? The family will need you over the next stretch." Jeff took a deep breath before confessing all. "I'll need you."

For the matriarch of the Tracy family, it was something to consider. She would be close to her boys when they needed her the most, but she would not be close enough.

"Mom," Jeff pleaded, eyes downcast, shrouded in worry. "Please do this for me. I can't help Scotty if I'm worried about you too. I don't want to have to choose between the two of you. I can't."

Throat tightening, Josie nodded her acquiescence. If that was the best thing she could do for her family, she was going to do it.

"Jeff?"

"Yes, Mom?"

"Scott's…"

"I've taken care of it," Jeff cut her off, soothing her worries. "I'll also ask Penny to investigate as well, make sure she picks up on little facts that may have been overlooked. I will do whatever it takes to get Scott out of jail."

"Good."

With that, Josie closed her eyes and dozed off, with Jeff beside her, knowing that while they could not do much to help Scott from their current location, at least they were doing something to rectify the situation.

* * *

><p>News had travelled back to Tracy Island fast, and for the first time in a long time, the three brothers had set aside their disagreement and collaborated on how they could best help their eldest brother.<p>

"Gordon, prep the plane," Virgil ordered, seniority over Gordon and Alan entitling him to make decisions. "Alan, send out a notification that International Rescue has suspended operations indefinitely."

There was a definite _clang_ as the metal bowl Alan was eating leftovers out of fell from his slack grip and clattered onto the ground, food flying everywhere.

"What did you just say, Virg?"

"You can't be serious!" Gordon seconded. While he knew the motivation behind Virgil's order, he could also see one very serious flaw in the plan Virgil was executing. With the arrest of Scott Tracy hitting global headlines, and the subsequent suspension of International Rescue, it wouldn't take a genius to conclude that the two incidences were related.

"Does this look like the face of a man who's kidding, Gordon?" Virgil growled, sounding as deadly as a bear that had been poked out of hibernation with a stick.

"But what about…?"

"I don't care about International Rescue at this current point in time!" Virgil roared, cutting Alan's question off as he gesticulated wildly, grabbing the blond by the arm. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tin-Tin flinch slightly at his rage. "I don't care about a forest fire burning in Australia! I could care less about floods in Timbuktu! Right now, all I care about is one person, probably being beaten to a pulp, in cell in San Francisco! If that makes me selfish, then so be it. If we don't get Scott back, then I want no part with International Rescue!"

And then, Virgil delivered the ace.

"If you care about Scott as much as you claim to, you would see things my way. Scott has given up so much for us over the years; it's time for us to pay him in kind."

It sealed the deal, but it also pushed Alan's temper past boiling point. He was sick of Virgil playing them that way, fed up with constantly feeling cornered in a decision he disagreed with. What Virgil was doing, Alan thought, was almost akin to bullying. Frustration rising to the surface, Alan flung Virgil's hand off his arm.

"Don't you _ever_ use that kind of emotional manipulation against us again!" Alan spat the words out as though he was spitting poison from his mouth. "Scott's our brother too, and we _do_ care about him! To be quite honest, I care about him a lot more than I care about you right now!"

Whatever outburst Virgil was expecting, it wasn't that one. A myriad of emotion flashed through his honey-burnt eyes. Shock, outrage, eventually melding into disbelief and hurt. It was over in a flash, but Alan still caught the look in Virgil's eye. Chewing on the bottom of his lip, preventing him from saying something he would later regret, Alan stormed out of the room, grabbing Tin-Tin and taking her with him.

Once they were in the confines of their own suite, and the door had slid shut behind them, Alan rounded on his wife, grasping her hands in his, as though this would ground him to reality.

"I have to ask this; where does your loyalty lie?"

"Excuse me?" Not a question she had been expecting, least of all from her husband.

"My brother has been charged with murdering your half uncle," Alan stated bluntly. "I need to know where your loyalties lie."

Incensed that Alan had to ask her such a question, Tin-Tin snatched her hands out of his grip.

"How _dare_ you ask me that?" she hissed, face contorting into a scowl as fire burned in her eyes. "How dare you! You should know by now who I support!"

Realising his mistake, Alan tried to backpedal, but it was too late. Tin-Tin was unstoppable, a tornado decimating everyone who had foolishly crossed her path.

"I have spent years devoting my life to ensure the smooth running of International Rescue! I have spent many sleepless nights performing maintenance on each Thunderbird! I have helped Brains and Virg restore you to full fitness after you get injured on a rescue, and you have the audacity to challenge me over my loyalties?"

Feeling very much like a mouse instead of a man, Alan had to stammer out his reasoning, the main one being that the Hood had been her half uncle. Some people would consider that a familial tie.

"He is no uncle of mine," Tin-Tin snarled out, corrosive tone rivalling battery acid. "He is just my father's half-brother."

Her eyes flicked up to his, brown eyes meeting blue, but there was no moment of understanding between them. They were too headstrong, fired up and stubborn to recognise and understand the other person's point of view.

Pointing to the door, she issued out her final order.

"Get out. And don't come back until you're sure of what my priorities are, and have no need to question where my loyalties lie!"

* * *

><p>Scott Tracy was devoid of emotion as he was escorted to the county jail. He felt nothing, no anger, resentment or fear as each thumb and digit was printed, scanned into a database and uploaded onto his newly acquired rap sheet. He obediently followed instructions as he was ordered to hold a placard up for his mug shots, one face forward shot and one side profile shot.<p>

For Scott, it was as though he had stepped out of his skin, and was watching the proceedings from afar, knowing that no matter how hard he tried, how hard he protested against it, the outcome remained the same; he would still have been subjected to the process.

_The devolution of Man_, he thought bitterly, as he surrendered his wallet, and more painfully, his watch and other personal effects. Surrendered all the little items that defined him as a person with an identity. Now, he was nothing more than a prisoner number, few fingerprints, two photos and an alleged crime.

Fudging the buttons through the holes in his shirt, Scott mentally prepared himself for the weapon and drug search he was about to undergo. Words from his Commanding Officer during his time with the USAF came back to him.

_You do what you gotta do. Then you just have to put it behind you and move on. Can't mope about it forever._

Scott supposed that he shouldn't have been surprised by the need for a full body cavity search; there were rules and regulations that the authorities had to follow as well. Really, if Scott was completely honest with himself, he should have been used to this. After all, it wasn't the first time he had been taken prisoner.

_But there's a huge difference between being a prisoner of war and a prisoner of the state._

Robotically, he shoved each leg through the bright orange jumpsuit once the search was over. A stark contrast to the blue uniform he was used; this was the new uniform he would have to get used to wearing. Once he was suitably attired, he was led through reinforced steel, bar doors.

The advice from Scott's defence lawyer flitted through his head, a repeating mantra, as she had outlined the immediate procedure he would undergo over the next few days. His Preliminary Hearing had been set for Monday, after being arrested on a Friday afternoon, which meant that he would be spending the weekend in jail.

Not a prospect he was looking forward to, especially without visitors, but he supposed that it was for the best. He would willingly spend two days in jail and post bail, if it was granted, to gain some sense of liberty.

It went without saying, as Scott was a man with common sense, but his lawyer had also advised him to keep to himself. The less interaction he had with the other prisoners, the better.

They came to a stop outside a cell. Scott took one look at it and instantly loathed it. He hated small spaces, and he hated being confined; the only exception to the rule was him being confined in a cockpit of a plane. Growing up on a farm, and then moving out to Tracy Island, Scott was well used to having room to move around. The six-by-three cell was the complete opposite.

_Home, sweet home._

The door to the cell swung shut as the officer moved away swiftly, a definitive sound separating Scott from freedom. Dull, blue eyes trained on the ground as he moved to an empty bunk. He saw movement in his peripheral vision, a vicious orange flash sneaking behind him. He registered the movement, but it was too late.

A well-aimed punch to his back, shock going straight to his kidney. Scott let out a muffled grunt against the pain. Unprovoked attacks were something he had expected, but not his early into his jail stint.

Another punch, this time higher up on his torso. High enough to paralyse his lungs momentarily. Gasping slightly as he struggled to get some air into his lungs, Scott missed the fist that swung down onto the side of his skull. Scott tried to fight against the blackness that threatened to overwhelm him, but in the end, it won out. Struggling onto a vacant bottom bunk-bed, Scott gave in and let the darkness swallow him whole.


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: ****Thank you, thank you for all the reviews and reading going on! It's absolutely wonderful to know that I'm not the only sadist out there that enjoys making the boys in blue squirm, hee-hee. A special thank you to Xenitha for outlining the trials and tribulations - all types of trials - Scotty would face behind bars.**

**A short-ish chapter this time, with less action, but definitely necessary to set things up for the next chapter. **

**The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety. **

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Twelve

Placing the portable vid-phone back in its charging dock, John sat down at the dining table, opposite Tash. Wordlessly he pushed a plate of food towards her. She spared him an angry, withering glance and shook her head, diverting her attention back to the one year old and three year old on her lap. Next to her, the four year old – the spitting image of Scott, if Scott had been a girl – burrowed in closer to her mother. While the children weren't aware of what had happened to their father, they were astute enough to pick up on their mother's mood and mimic it.

"You need to eat," he insisted, inching the plate closer. "Scott asked me to look after you and I gave him my word. Don't make me go back on that now."

"The same way you looked after him, huh?"

A beat of silence as the snide comment built up a wall of steel between them.

"Scott's lawyer will be coming around in about ten minutes to walk us through what happens next."

That tidbit of information drew her attention. "Good."

Another beat of silence. John made to move towards his nephews, intent on having them settled with their sister in another room, but his attempts were thwarted. Melissa ignored his outstretched hand, and Luke recoiled away from him. Even Nick showed his displeasure at his uncle by blowing spit bubbles as John approached him.

"Just tell me why you did it, John."

"Did what?" It was official; the blonde Tracy was confused by that.

"Why did you let them take Scott?! You just let those idiots take Scott away! Why didn't you fight them from taking my husband away?!"

John swallowed painfully. This was not good; a hysterical pregnant woman was not something he was used to, and he was beginning to feel out of his depth. If Scott was there, he would have known what to do.

But, then again, if Scott had been there, this wouldn't have been an issue. It was taking him a while, but John was beginning to recognise that Scott was the glue that helped to keep the family together.

Trusting what his gut was telling him to do, John made to move towards his sister-in-law and gather her up in a comforting hug, but she pushed him away.

"Don't."

Once again, John tried to reach for one of his nephews, but Tash snarled and glowered at him. Lioness, maternal instinct kicking in, and John was smart enough to know when to back off.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" he asked, in a somewhat futile attempt to make things right.

Tash lowered Luke to the floor and nudged Melissa in the direction of a bedroom, getting them out of the way for the lawyer's visit. There was no way they were finding out what had happened to Scott, not until she had managed to explain things to them in a child-friendly way. Balancing the baby on her hip, with fire blazing in her eyes and a chill factor that could rival deep space, she spat out her response.

"I think _you've_ done enough. Don't you?"

* * *

><p>Rain drizzled down against the full, glass panelled windows of Lady Penelope's mansion, but that was of no consequence to her. Instead, she was mentally preparing herself for her next mission. Normally, this wouldn't have been an issue – she wasn't an International Agent for nothing – but this particular case struck a little closer to home.<p>

Penny had always wondered how she would deal with a mission which directly involved one of the Tracy sons, with no interference from International Rescue. Now, after taking the call from Jeff, she was about to find out. But she had never dreamed it would have been under such dire circumstances.

Well, really, it was absurd to think that Scott Tracy could be a murderer. The man couldn't possibly harm a fly; he had too much care for others within him to even contemplate that. Anyone with half a brain could have figured that out when they saw him with his family. He was a member of International Rescue, for crying out loud! If that didn't affirm the fact that Scott worked hard to preserve life instead of take it, she wasn't aware of what could.

If it hadn't been for the look of complete and utter devastation on her boss' face, Penny would have believed that she had been, to use a phase Gordon had taught her, punk'd. But it was not a joke, and it went without saying that the status of International Rescue hinged on whether the charges against Scott were dropped after the initial hearing.

Heaving a sigh, she sunk gracefully onto an ottoman, calling Parker to the appropriate room. What she wanted right now was a cup of tea to help gather her thoughts while Parker packed and prepared for the assignment they were about to undertake.

"Tea, M'lady?" Parker enquired, stepping smartly into the room. Obliging to the nod of her head, he dutifully poured the tea into a cup and set it down on a table beside her.

"Thank you, Parker," she acknowledged, sipping at the beverage.

"Will that be all, M'lady?"

"No, I'm afraid not, Parker. Cancel my appointments for the next fortnight, pack some bags with the appropriate attire and bring the Rolls around. Mr Tracy has a job for us in San Francisco."

"Yes, M'lady."

Another heavy sigh as she took another delicate sip of the warming liquid. She wondered, briefly, how the other Tracy boys were handling the situation. She was aware that John was on the road to recovery after his time of crisis, and somehow Penny knew that this setback had the potential to undo all the hard work he had put into his recovery. John, in a way, was like a trapped frog in a well; for every jump forward he took towards freedom, he slid further back.

Virgil, no doubt, would be taking this the hardest. The two boys were very close to each other; she had yet to see a stronger bond. Even the connection between Gordon and Alan paled in comparison to Virgil and Scott. Virgil would be roaring to go, to take charge of this predicament, all guns blazing. He would be the one that would be willing to sacrifice anything, and everything, if it meant Scott could leave a free man.

Alan, she knew, would have inevitably snapped at someone, the fuse on his temper eventually exploding. Penny sympathised for whoever had borne the brunt of his anger.

Gordon, she mused, was a lot like Scott. He would bottle up how he really felt and exude a cool, calm exterior, if only to help keep some sort of strained peace within the family. Gordon would deny himself spending time in the pool if it meant he could provide some comfort to any member of the family, much like Scott would sacrifice his pilot wings if it would benefit his family.

Silently, she shook her head. Someone had to be able to find the clues to glue a fractured family back together, and Penny was determined that it was going to be her.

* * *

><p>His breath came in hitches, and he snatched what little oxygen he could stand without coughing up his lungs. Dazed after emerging from his blackout, Scott could feel the after effects of the beating hit him full force.<p>

His head throbbed, and he was sure he could already feel the bruise and the swelling forming. He could feel wave after wave of nausea coursing through his body, but he quashed it with a strength he didn't know he possessed. In all honesty, Scott was more worried about the punch to his kidneys. Short of peeing out blood, there would be no way for him to check if they had been damaged in any way.

A surreptitious glance around the cell. It was just him in there. Briefly, he wondered what had happened to the guy who had managed to get the jump on him, and then he realised that he actually didn't care. Whatever the reasoning behind his isolation, Scott was glad of the reprieve he had been given. It was reassuring, and the nausea eased off a bit, as did the sense of blind panic he felt.

The door to the cell opened and an arm thrust in a tray. "Chow."

Appraising his culinary delight – and he used the term loosely – Scott sighed. He wasn't fool enough to expect a restaurant quality meal, but he had at least thought that it would have been, well, edible.

Scott's stomach grumbled, as per usual when he was hungry. Clearly, his stomach didn't care that the dinner looked like a conglomerate rock with seaweed sticking out of it. Or maybe it was a warning sign for him not to eat – Scott was so far out of reality that he didn't know what his body was telling him.

_Still, can't be as bad as the crap they used to feed us in the Air Force._

Closing his eyes, Scott shovelled in a mouthful and chewed methodically, swallowing quickly before his brain could register the action. He could feel it lump in his throat, catching about a quarter of the way down from his mouth to his stomach.

_I was wrong; give me Air Force food any day!_

Scott coughed against the obstruction in his throat, trying to dislodge the lump. A twinge of pain seared through him, radiating from the back of his ribcage outwards. Scott's hand flew to the site of the pain, and he flinched as he finally felt just how bad it was. Possibly a cracked rib, maybe two, coupled with heaps of swelling. The bruise had long formed and the injury was tender to the touch. Common sense told him that if his ribs were cracked, there was the potential for the ribs to eventually break and skewer through his lung. He wondered how long it would take. He wondered if he would survive long enough in jail to make it to his trial. Scott didn't doubt his endurance and resilience in unfavourable circumstances, but he wasn't going to underestimate the intentions of the people he was currently housed with either.

_It's two more days,_ he reminded himself. _Just two more days until you'll be granted bail – hopefully – and be out of here. You can tough it out; you've gone through worse._

The food - if it could be called that – lay forgotten as Scott shifted onto his side and stared blankly at the wall.

* * *

><p>Well renowned amongst her peers as a criminal defence lawyer at the top of her game, Christine Julian sat across from her client's family at their dining table. Not being one for small talk, after introducing herself, she launched straight into the reason for her visit.<p>

"Now, Scott has already told me that since he's been interrogated before in this investigation. Since he hadn't been read his rights, anything he said should not be held against him. If it comes down to it, I'll fight to have the conversations ruled as inadmissible."

She glanced over at the auburn haired woman sitting opposite her, with the towhead standing behind her.

"I'll imagine you have questions."

It was true. Tash did have many questions that were ready to roll of the tip of her tongue, as did John.

_How many cases have you won?_

_How do I know that you'll be my husband's knight in shining armour and save him?_

Instead, she swallowed her doubts. The lawyer was the best in her field, and who was she to question that?

There was one question, however, that Tash would be asking. Well, really, it was more of a statement.

"I want to see him."

"You can't," she replied evenly. "He's currently being held in a processing centre, and only attorneys are allowed to see their clients."

Feeling the muscles tense in her shoulders, John placed a restraining, but comforting hand on her. He could feel the tension radiating out from her waves that would have made a tsunami look like choppy seas. He wondered how long it would take for her to snap, and who would drown under the onslaught of her stress.

"Well, then, when can we see him?"

"Most likely after his bail hearing." It was the perfect segue for Christine Julian to use as she was ready to outline the course of action set for Monday, but a little voice cut her off. From across the table, she could see a pair of green eyes peeking up from under the table.

"Mommy?"

"Not now, Luke. Go back to your room and I'll be there when I can."

"But, Mommy!"

"Luke!" Tash snapped. "I said not now! Go to your room and stay there until I can come to you! Understand?!"

Terrified, the little boy nodded his head and scurried out of the room. The door separating the room that the children were in and the dining area clicked shut, but not before Tash heard her son stifle a small sob.

"How many kids do you and Scott have?" Christine asked after a moment, pretending she hadn't been witness to that. Knowing that her client had young children made her all the more determined to try and have Scott released on bail. As a parent herself, she was aware of the impact it would have on his children if he was denied bail.

Hidden under the table, Tash's hand stole protectively over her tummy. "Four. We have four."

Julien nodded in understanding. "A word of advice; when you do go to visit Scott, if you want to take your children with you, you'll need to phone ahead. It's just a regulation that they have to comply with."

"And the bail hearing?" John prompted, steering them back on track. The sooner he knew all the facts, the better equipped he was to alleviate his brothers' fears. Realistically, John knew that he was going to be the one that would have to relay the new information to Virgil, Gordon and Alan, and he also knew that he would face the onslaught of questions they had that they didn't know the answer to. There were times when he resented being the eldest out of the four of them.

"The preliminary hearing is set for Monday at nine. At the same time, the judge presiding over the hearing will determine if there is enough evidence to continue, which there most likely is."

Another pause, leaving an opening for questions.

"Will I get him back?" This time, the auburn haired woman didn't look up, choosing to trace a finger along the pattern of the tablecloth.

"Bail, if it's set, will be in the millions, given that the nature of the charge means Scott could be a flight risk. Since Scott has shown signs of compliance – he didn't leave the country once he had surrendered his passport – I'm hoping that the judge will grant him an OR, as unlikely as it is."

"OR?" John asked sharply, beginning to pace up and down. None of this looked like it would bring Scott home, even if it was only temporarily. Wearily, he ran a hand through his peroxide locks.

"Own Recognizance. It's similar to an act on good faith; bail won't be set, and Scott won't be held in county jail until his trial. He'll be released back into society on the proviso that he appears in court for his trial."

"Great!"

"Don't get your hopes up for an OR," the defence lawyer warned. "It most likely won't come to fruition."

John leant down, whispering in his sister-in-law's ear. "We'll post bail, however much it is, and we'll get him out. Okay, Tash? Money is no object for us."

The auburn haired woman nodded in relief. "I know."

Intuitively knowing that the meeting was drawing to a close, Christine Julien stood up and allowed John to show her to the door.

"Ms Julien," he said. "Thank you for everything you're doing for my brother."

With a grim smile as she stepped over the threshold, leaving her client's family to their own devices, she replied, "Don't thank me yet. I still have to get Scott off the charge."


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: ****The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety.**

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

**Okay, confession time. This chapter has been completed for a quite a while now. I had planned on posting this up a few weeks ago, but a severe chemical burn on my hand (someone forgot to clean up their workspace before my lab) and a reaction to some medication meant to help with the burn proved for a difficult two weeks. Typing and writing's still painful, but not as bad as it was before. Still, it's up now, and it's a tad bit longer too. **

**Now, onto the reviews, since I had intended to reply to them but couldn't, because of aforementioned difficulties.**

**Darkflame's Pyre, who wants to kidnap Nick... umm, sure, you can kidnap him. But make sure you hide from Scott, because I don't think he would take too kindly to having his son snatched from him. And yay for Penny. I really do have to use her sleuthing skills more. :P Thank you, thank you for your review.**

**thunderbird5 - chances are that they probably do, but procedures have to be followed. After all, it's the only way to keep things fair and just in life. Thanks for the review**

**Xenitha - yeah, it was Nutraloaf. It seemed like even more of a punishment to Scott because he loves his food so much. Thank you to the power of infinity for the support and info you've given me.**

**bubzchoc - glad you enjoyed the last chapter. Hope you like this one too. **Thanks for the review.****

**JoTracy123 - poor Scott indeed. Glad to hear you're enjoying the story, and here's the next update. Thanks for the review.**

**Florianderl, who hopes Scott gets bail - well... this chapter is the answer to that question. Such torture indeed! Thanks for the review.**

Chapter Thirteen

The weekend had passed, and it was inevitable that Virgil's temper had reached fraying point. Jeff had forbidden his other sons from suspending International Rescue, meaning that Virgil, Gordon and Alan were unable to fly out to San Francisco to be with their family.

Not that it would have made a difference; International Rescue had been quiet all weekend. In a way, Virgil reasoned, it was a good thing. Each Tracy boy was preoccupied with their own problem, and without full concentration on the hypothetical rescue, it was more likely that they would have made some fatal error somewhere along the line.

The only thing now that could calm his frazzled nerves was actually seeing his big brother.

The whine of a jet engine droned on in the background as Virgil completed his pre-flight checklist. Today was Scott's bail hearing, and defying his father's instructions, he had orchestrated the closure of International Rescue for a day. Scott would need all the familial support he could get, and Virgil was sure as hell that he was going to provide it. It didn't take much persuasion to get Gordon, Alan, Tin-Tin and Gus on his side, and they had readily agreed to the temporary hiatus.

"After all," Virgil had reasoned. "It's not like the world failed to function before IR came into existence."

Knee jerking up and down involuntarily, Virgil jumped slightly as the door between the cabin and the cockpit opened.

"Everything okay, Tin-Tin?"

She nodded. "Everyone's seated at the back. Do you need a co-pilot?"

Intuitive as he was, Virgil knew that there was something else that was troubling Tin-Tin. Based on past experience, Virgil was sure that he was not meant to broach the issue until Tin-Tin brought it up. Privately, he was a little surprised that Tin-Tin would approach him; he half expected her to go to Alan. But, this time, Virgil suspected that Alan was the problem.

Virgil tapped the seat next to him, inviting her to sit down. "Makes a nice change to Scott. He's the worst co-pilot to have; the ultimate control freak. Haven't done this in a while, have we?"

Tin-Tin let out a rare smile. "The last time you and I flew together was when you and Scott were teaching me how to fly."

"And we still maintain the fact that you were our best student."

Falling silent, Virgil taxied out of the hanger and onto the runway. Requesting clearance from Kyrano – he had opted to stay on the island, along with Brains, who was currently engaged in an experiment – Virgil and Tin-Tin powered down the runway and let the plane soar into the sky.

For the most part, they flew in companionable silence, only punctuated with brief bouts of idle chatter. They talked about something, nothing and everything in between until Virgil knew that it was the right time to gently prod Tin-Tin into sharing her troubles.

"A problem shared is a problem halved," he pointed out, banking the plane to the right.

Tin-Tin heaved a sigh. "I know. Virgil, whose side do you think I'm on?"

A quirked, chestnut coloured eyebrow. "Side? I didn't think there were sides."

"Well, _apparently_, since the Hood was my," Tin-Tin paused, readying herself to spit out the word as though it was poisonous. "Uncle, Alan seems to think that it's enough to question my loyalty to this family."

Virgil, unlike Alan, was wise enough to say nothing and let Tin-Tin rant.

"Have I, or have I not, spent every day of my life over the past five years dedicating my skills to benefit International Rescue? Wasn't I the one who worked myself to the bone, ensuring that each one of your crafts was maintained just in case of a call out? Who was the person who watched over you in Sickbay… Virgil Tracy, why are you laughing?!"

Chewing on his lip in an effort to control his laughter was in vein. Giving in, Virgil threw his head back against the Captain's chair and let a belly laugh reverberate around the cockpit. Laughing, it seemed, was contagious, as moments later, Tin-Tin couldn't suppress her own giggles.

If truth be told, Tin-Tin was glad that her frustration had made Virgil laugh. It had been too long since the musically inclined brother had shown signs of unadulterated happiness. So what if it had to have been derived out of her issues?

"Tin-Tin, you getting this riled up shows me that I don't need to ask you that. You sitting next to me as we fly to Scott's bail hearing tells me the answer. You're firmly on Team Tracy, and I, for one, am glad for that. If Alan had to ask you that, then he's an idiot."

"So, I'm not the only one who thinks that?"

"I think you'll find that at some point in time, everyone who's encountered Alan has thought that."

A tentative silence. Virgil's instinct told him that there was more troubling Tin-Tin, but he also knew that this was not the time to push it. Instead, he would content himself by leaving an invitation.

"Well, Tin, if you ever need to vent about Alan, or just need someone to put things into perspective, we're here to listen. I know what you're thinking, and no, you aren't overreacting to this. In fact, you're being remarkably restrained. I'm impressed."

* * *

><p>Josie Tracy humphed at her son from her hospital bed. True to his word, Jeff had managed to have his mother transferred to a hospital in San Francisco for treatment, if only to prevent her from discharging herself against medical advice. Grumbling under her breath, she frowned at the greying man, dressed in a smart business suit.<p>

"Mom, please, let this go," Jeff pleaded, straightening the knot in his tie. "I know you want to be there for Scotty, especially today, but he would want you to be fully recovered instead of fussing over him. Sit out the sprint so you can endure the marathon."

Well, the analogy was rubbish, but Josie understood what Jefferson was trying to enforce onto her. While it made sense, it didn't mean she had to like it.

"Mom, I will come back here the instant it's over and let you know what happened," Jeff promised. "With any luck, these trumped up charges will be dropped and Scotty will be back home before the day's out."

"Good." The elderly matriarch nodded her head decisively. "That's where he needs to be. With his family."

Shrugging his overcoat on and buttoning it up as he headed to the door of the room, Jeff could only murmur his support for what his mother had just said. Tracys stuck together. It was what they did. A glance down at his watch. He really did have to leave if he wanted to be there with time to spare for the bail hearing.

"Besides, you promised Tash you'd watch your beloved great-grandchildren while we're at court. And we both know Scott would handle it better if his kids were in your care instead of them being dragged through this sorry mess."

"Jefferson?"

"Yes, Mom?"

"You do believe Scott is innocent, don't you?"

It sounded like a question, but Jeff was no fool. He could sense a hint of an accusation in his mother's voice. He had answer, he knew that much, but he had to consider how he would approach it.

"I know Scott," Jeff began slowly, after hesitating. He's my firstborn son, and I'd like to think I know him as well as he knows himself. I also know that Scott will do anything to protect his family."  
>"That isn't an answer, Jefferson."<p>

"I'm going to his bail hearing, aren't I?"

As Jeff retreated away from her room, Josie huffed once more. It wasn't an answer, but it was an answer in itself. So Jeff didn't believe that Scott was not guilty of the allegations against him. Anger riled up inside her. That rescue seven and a half months ago was doing more damage to the family than they had originally thought.

Josie's mind was made up. Scott's father may not have had any faith in his son, but she was determined to show Scotty that he had the support of his brothers, and Lady Penelope in his corner, willing to help him fight the charges.

* * *

><p>He hadn't slept much over the past forty eight hours and it showed. Bloodshot eyes, not to mention the heavy bruising that lined his face and his weary and fatigued body. Hadn't even shaved, and two days worth of regrowth meant he felt like he was half human, half Chewbacca.<p>

The door to his cell screeched open, nails on a chalkboard, and Scott pushed himself up into a sitting position from his cot with difficulty. A flash of pain fired through his body, and he held back his wince, unable to allow himself to display any sort of weakness.

"Chow," an officer grunted, thrusting a tray with more unappetising lumps on it towards Scott. Well, it wasn't unappetising; it just didn't taste of anything. Bland and flavourless, the kind of food Scott hated. Even eating reconstituted baby food would have been preferable to this, and with three kids of his own, he was well acquainted with the taste of baby food.

Scott ate what little he could manage; the butterflies in his stomach were actually rhinos stampeding around, making it almost impossible to keep down. Once the tray had been removed, Scott was escorted to a communal wash area so that he could brush his teeth with the toothbrush he had been given in the booking room. Another officer handed him a disposable razor blade.

Scott shaved while he waited for the shower stall to become available, squinting into a mirror that was about as useful as a chocolate teapot. With no clear reflection, Scott suspected that the mirror had actually been made out of tinfoil.

"What are you in for?"

Whoever had been in the shower had snuck up behind Scott. Startled, and frustrated at letting his guard down, even for a millisecond, Scott pressed too hard on the razor blade as he dragged it down his cheek. Blood dribbled out from the wound, and Scott's hand flew up to the injury and clamped down on it, trying to stem the flow.

"Excuse me?"

Staring into the reflection – such as it was – Scott felt his unease rise. Blue eyes met black, and both were cold, unwavering and unforgiving.

"What are you in for?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

A menacing step towards him. Scott thought that at six foot two and 180 pounds, he was built substantially, but in the presence of a man who towered over him and looked like he had fed himself steroids for the last decade, Scott felt positively puny.

"Well, maybe _I_ do. What are you in for?"

Blue eyes guarded, Scott spat out his charge. "Murder One."

The other prisoner looked suitably impressed. "I had you pegged for a narc."

_Not a bad assumption, given my past._

Swallowing painfully against a throat that had gone as dry as a desert, Scott stared back into the mirror, volunteering information he had been saying all along.

"I didn't do what they said I did. I shouldn't be here."

The other prisoner snorted in disbelief. "Says you and everyone else. For a bunch of people that didn't do jackshit, there sure are a lot of us here."

"I didn't do it." This time, Scott sidestepped around the prisoner, heading for the empty shower stall and drew the curtain between them. He wanted to get ready as fast as possible so that he could escape prison and re-join society, get back to the place where he truly belonged.

Over the sound of the water, Scott could hear footsteps padding away from him. All alone now, Scott could let his guard drop fractionally.

"I'm done," he called out to a warden eventually, tie hanging loosely around his neck. The warden marched him back to his cell.

"We'll take you up to your lawyer in a minute."

Scott could only nod, mouth too parched to reply. Handcuffs shackled his wrists as they were forced behind his back. Flanked on either side by a guard, Scott was led through a labyrinth of corridors.

_Like a lamb being led to the slaughter_, he thought bitterly.

As he passed the common area, the prisoner from the shower caught his eye.

"Good luck, man."

Scott was stunned, to say the least, at this. For the first time since he had been incarcerated, he had been treated… almost like a human being.

Scott nodded once more, and thought of honour amongst thieves.

* * *

><p>John cast a cursory glance over at his companion. Dark, shadowed rings circled her eyes, and she looked pale. To John, it was clear that she was not holding up well. Briefly, he wondered if he looked that bad before he had asked and accepted help for his breakdown.<p>

"Are you okay? It's just that you look a little queasy."

It was the stupidest question he could ask, given the circumstances, but it was the best thing John could think of.

The auburn haired woman sitting beside him shot him a look. "John, I'm seven weeks pregnant. Asking me if I feel queasy is like me asking you if you feel the need to breathe. The answer will always be yes."

Flopping down into a vacant seat outside the courtroom, John picked up a stray newspaper and jumped straight to the half-finished Sudoku.

"If I don't occupy myself," John explained at his sister-in-law's incredulous stare. "I will go insane." A glance at his watch. "Dad, Virg and the others will be here soon. They wouldn't miss this."

Time passed on by, until it was almost time for the bail hearing to start. Within moments of each other, Jeff, Virgil, Gordon, Alan, Tin-Tin and Gus had managed to congregate around John and Tash. Jeff snaffled the paper out of John's hands and scan read the finance pages.

John shrugged apologetically at the incredulous looks he was getting. "What can I say; like father, like son."

"If I don't know what the headlines are, I will go crazy," Jeff defended evenly, crinkling the pages in his hand.

Definitely like father, like son.

But there was no time to dwell on it. With only a few minutes before the bail hearing began, the Tracy clan trooped into the room, sitting as far up front as they could in the public gallery.

Idle chatter reigned in the courtroom, mainly amongst the media that had gathered in the press box. Jefferson glared over at them; he had had his reservations with press before, specifically after they wouldn't let him grieve in peace after Lucy's passing, and here they were again, sucking the life out of Scott's hearing, like parasites, just to make a quick buck.

The bailiff opened a door at the rear of the courtroom and led Scott in. He was shackled, tied and bound by handcuffs attached to a waist chain. Eyes lowered, sparing one quick glance to his family before he turned his back on them. From where she stood behind the defence table, ready to fight for her client's right to be freed on bail, Christine Julian helped Scott over, attempting to humanise him as much as possible, make it impossible for people to see him as a cold-blooded murderer.

As the presiding judge sat down, the clerk shuffled his papers and read out the charge against Scott. Hearing the words phrased in such a formal way, hearing that the evidence had piled up against him to make the charge stick, really hammered home just how deep a hole he had dug himself into. The weight of the words bore down on his shoulders, a heavy reminder of what could happen to him if he was found guilty by a jury.

But, then again, that was a big if.

"Mr Tracy, how do you plead?" The judge glanced at the almost thirty year old over the top of his gold-rimmed glasses.

Scott swallowed once again – a hard feat to achieve, given that his mouth had conveniently decided to dry up, like the Sahara desert. His ribs twinged as his breath hitched in his chest. His voice box had paralysed, and Scott wondered if they were the symptoms of blind panic.

"Not guilty," he squeaked out, sounding like he had been sucking on helium over his stint in jail.

"I'm sorry?"

Scott coughed, cleared his throat, giving him a sense of confidence he didn't know he possessed. "Not guilty, Your Honour."

_Atta boy_, Virgil silently cheered. _Not guilty! You tell 'em, Scotty!_

Now that the most important question of the day had been asked and answered, the judge moved his attention to the DA.

"Does the state wish to be heard on bail?"

"Your Honour," the DA began, voice as sharp as a strong cheese. "We request that the defendant be held without bail, given the severity of the charge."

Julian was on her feet before the DA had even finished. "Your Honour, that's ridiculous! My client is a well-established member of the community; he has shown complete compliance with this investigation, to the point where he surrendered his passport so he couldn't flee the country. He does not pose a flight risk!"

"With the sentence accompanying the charge of murder, there most certainly is a flight risk," the DA argued.

Julian let out a snort of sarcastic laughter. "Your Honour, the prosecution is wrongly assuming that there will be a conviction."

"All right, all right." The judge removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefingers. "Save it for the trial, Counsel. We're talking about first-degree murder. There is a considerable flight risk. Bail will be denied. The defendant will be remanded in custody until his trial."

From where she sat in the public gallery, Tash drew in a deep breath and grasped onto the railing in front of her. This was not how she envisioned the day going. Gordon placed a hand on her shoulder, a sign of support, talons digging into flesh.

Without him looking back, not even once, Scott was escorted out of the courtroom by a bailiff.

"Wait," Jeff called out, just wanting to have a few moments with his son, but he was too late. Scott had disappeared from earshot and eyesight. Instead, he had to settle with talking to Julian to get the answers he wanted. "Where are they taking him?"

"Back."

A moment of silence.

"To jail. He'll stay there for up to a year. That's how long it will take for his trial to come up on the docket, and I'm not about to motion for a fast trial."

John opened his mouth to protest, but Julian cut him off.

"No, John. The time Scott spends waiting for his trial date to roll around is the amount of time I have to prepare his defence."

From where she was sitting, Tash spoke up. "Does Scott know?"

Christine tilted her head to the left. What Tash was really asking was if Scott knew how long he would be stuck behind bars. But Christine heard the question at its simplest level.

_Does Scott know?_

And perhaps, Christine considered, on some level, Scott was the only one that did.


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: Thank you, thank you for all the reviews. It's wonderful to know that you've been enjoying - well, maybe not the right word, but it'll do - the tale, and that you're on Scott's side, fighting against the injustice of him not receiving bail. ****Rest assured, I do have something up my sleeve... *insert evil laugh here*. No, it doesn't bode well for Scott, and that's all I'm going to say. **

**The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety. **

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Fourteen

The two elder children played quietly together at the foot of her bed, and Josie Tracy held her youngest, and squirming, great-grandson in her grip. Fighting against her grip, Nick squealed, irresistibly reminding Josie of Scott when he was this age. Scott had always fidgeted when she restrained him from moving around too much.

"Gammy?"

"Yes, Luke?"

"Where's Daddy? I miss him."

"Daddy…" Josie trailed off; unaware of how much the children knew. "Daddy will be here soon, okay?"

Nodding in understanding, Luke shuffled back to the foot of his bed and played with his teddy bear.

An expectant glance at the digital clock on the headboard. It had been long enough, and Josie fully expected Scott to walk through the door to her room and swoop those kids of his up into a hug and refuse to let go of them.

No such luck.

Just her son and granddaughter-in-law walking into the room.

"Where's Scott?" Josie demanded, heart sinking as she realised that Scott was back in jail.

Jeff shook his head, collapsing into the vacant chair beside his mother. Tash took a squirming Nick out of Josie's hands and cuddled him closely. Beckoning her two eldest kids to her, she held them close too.

"Mommy, where's Daddy?"

Tash swallowed painfully at her daughter's question. "Daddy… Daddy had to go away for a bit."

"Why?"

"Mel, do you remember when I told you that you couldn't have cookies before lunch and you snuck some anyway? And then you told us that Luke had eaten them instead of you? Do you remember us sending Luke to the time out chair because of that?"

The four year old frowned and nodded reluctantly, while her brother screwed up his face in a scowl.

"And then Daddy sent you to the time out chair when we found out the truth because you broke the rule about lying?"

"Yes."

"Well, some people think that Daddy broke a rule he wasn't meant to break. So Daddy has to go to the time out chair for a bit."

A moment of silence.

"Did Daddy take a cookie too?" she asked quietly, eyes that were a perfect copy of her father's, downcast.

Tash sighed. If only it was Scott sneaking a cookie from the cookie jar.

"No, Mel, it's a bit more complicated than that. The police think Daddy did something that he didn't do – the same way we thought Luke had eaten the cookies, when it was really you. Until we can prove that Daddy didn't do it, Daddy has to stay in the time out chair for adults."

Another moment of silence as the two children struggled to comprehend what had been said.

"Does Daddy not love us?"

This time, it was her eldest son asking the question. Balancing the baby on her hip, Tash knelt down to Luke's height, resting the palm of her hand on his cheek.

"Daddy loves you. Mommy and Daddy love you. We will always love you. Don't you ever doubt that, Luke. Daddy will never stop loving you."

"Then… when's Daddy coming back?"

It was a vicious cycle; the kids clearly didn't understand why Scott wasn't there, and every time they asked a question, it was a stark reminder of what had just been taken away from them.

"I don't know." At this, Tash's voice cracked a bit. To Jeff, it was a clear sign that she was not holding up well. A cursory glance at his mother told him that Josie had the same thoughts he had, and that she wanted a few moments alone with her granddaughter-in-law. Subtly, Jeff grabbed onto Melissa and Luke and led them out of the room, taking Nick into his arms as he left.

From where she lay, Josie tapped the side of her bed and gestured for Tash to sit down. For a moment, she just took in the younger woman, saying absolutely nothing. Josie had had some suspicions before, but before she said anything, she wanted to confirm it.

"When's the baby due?"

Startled green eyes stared at her.

"Dear, I see the same thing in you as I saw with Lucille when she was carrying those boys of hers."

A hefty sigh as Tash fiddled with her hair. "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can," Josie countered. "You and Scott have been given this baby for a reason. Maybe the timing isn't perfect, but then when it comes to you two, you've always had lousy timing."

"I can't do this without Scott," Tash clarified. "I can't do this alone."

"You won't be alone. You have John there. You'll have me." A smile at the incredulous look that was sent Josie's way. "Tash, I have considered you to be a part of my family since that incident with you and Scott in the barn when you were teens."

Josie let out a smile while Tash blushed at the fact that Grams still remembered. "I guess we always did have lousy timing," she agreed.

"My family is here, and they need me. Do you really think that I wouldn't stay with you?"

Sensing that a breakdown was imminent, Josie enveloped the younger woman into a hug, holding her, whispering a quiet reassurance, one she hoped she would be able to fulfil.

"I promise, we will do whatever we can to get Scott back with us. We'll get Scotty back where he belongs, with you, this little one and the three other ones out there."

* * *

><p>Stripping out of the suit and back into prison wear was about as dehumanising as it was the first time. Scott still underwent all the searches that he had to endure before being frogmarched down through a labyrinth of corridors.<p>

Scott noted, somewhat uneasily, that he had not been taken back to the same county jail he had been held in over the weekend. The reason for that, the lawyer had explained, was that Scott had been held at the booking station over the weekend. Now that he had been denied bail, he would be housed with other detainees awaiting trial.

He was roughly manhandled as he was frisked again for any contraband, and he winced as hands ran over his ribs. Four days after the injury had been inflicted onto him, and it was still as painful as it had been when he had first received it. Time clearly did not heal all wounds.

As Scott was escorted into the bowels of the county jail, he became aware of just how uncomfortable the radioactive orange prison jumpsuit felt. It was two sizes too small, ridiculously tight, restricting his movement.

_A prisoner even in that sense._

As he was marched on, Scott realised that the jumpsuit clawed away at his back, irritating his skin, like a permanent rash he couldn't get rid of. He wondered if he would eventually get used to it, and then he realised that he didn't want to get used to it.

As he walked through the complex, he could hear other incarcerated people yell, rattle on the bars of the cell, as though they were caged animals. A cursory glance up, even though it was against Scott's better judgement.

_Is that a swastika carved into someone's forehead?!_

Scott's eyes shifted hastily back towards the ground, and he assumed it was a brief hallucination. No one would do that, not in this day and age. Would they? The less interaction he had with anyone, the better it would be, Scott concluded.

The lighting seemed to dim, a constant reminder of the grim place he was in. Scott sucked in a sharp breath, momentarily forgetting that his ribs were shot to shit. A flash of fire, the brand of pain seared through his nerves.

And they were there. It was almost identical to the cell he had spent the weekend in, except this time, it was different. This was what he was going to call home for the next year. At the other end of the cell lay a small wash basin and a toilet that dripped incessantly.

Directly on Scott's left was where he would be bunking. The empty, clear plastic box was an indication of that. For the moment, the cell was isolated, but Scott was astute enough to know that it would not be the case for much longer. Cradling his ribs, Scott managed to ease himself down onto the lumpy mattress. He did not like the situation he was in one little bit. He did not like it at all. Glancing at the wall, and the bars on his window, he wondered if it was worthwhile in orchestrating an escape of some sort.

But that would not be a plan he put into action. Scott thought about life on the run, and realised that it wasn't worth it.

_Better to play by the rules and fight the system than avoid it entirely. _

Shielding and cushioning his ribs with one hand, Scott curled up onto the cot, determined to make himself as small and unnoticed as possible. Rolling onto his side, he once again stared at the wall, staring blankly into a future that looked like it held, for him… absolutely nothing of worth.

* * *

><p>Lady Penelope covered up a fluttering yawn behind a perfectly manicured hand. Jet lag did seem to strike her at the most inappropriate times. Still, the blonde aristocrat knew that there was no time for her to give in to her desire to sleep for eight hours straight; her friend's life was on the line, in all ways imaginable, and she had the skill and resources at her disposal to help free him.<p>

"What a pity we couldn't bring the Rolls on such short notice," she said to Parker, who was charged with the task of arranging their numerous bags so that it would fit into the boot of the car that had been left at their disposal.

"Yes, M'lady."

"I'm afraid we shall just have to make the best with what we're given."

"Yes, M'lady."

A moment as the boot closed with a definitive thud. Penny shuddered slightly at the noise. Her beloved Rolls would have never have done that.

"Where to, M'lady?" Parker asked, sliding behind the wheel.

"The hotel suite, Parker. I suggest we freshen up before we undertake this mission."

"Right you are, M'lady."

Some hours later, Penelope sat at the suite's dining room table as she flipped through the folder Jeff had compiled, based off reports, still photographs and transcripts of interviews he had been able to garner through various contacts. It pleased Penny to see that one of the more important transcripts was in the file too; the one where Scott hadn't denied his presence at the crime scene, but did deny committing a crime of any sort.

Sipping at her steaming mug of tea – tea really did seem to make this mammoth task more manageable – Penny rubbed at her forehead. She had been reading the same few documents over and over again, but something did not make sense at all.

The door to the room the Hood was being treated in was meant to be locked and guarded at all times, and under constant surveillance through real-time capture cameras. But through Scott's own admission, the security guard hadn't cared that he was entering the room, and the door opened when he pushed it. There was no force on his part in opening the door.

The cogs started turning in her mind. If it was that easy for Scott to gain access to a restricted zone, Penny wondered how many other people could have slipped in and out undetected. Some good, old-fashioned sleuthing would be required to get to the bottom of this.

_Every camera has a blind spot, so the right person would be able to exploit that. _

It still didn't provide an alternate explanation to the damning evidence – the DNA traces that placed Scott in the room, and the strangulation marks around the deceased neck, but it would do for a start. Everything in small, thorough steps to ensure an optimal outcome.

"Parker," she called out, taking another sip of tea and delicately nibbling on an almond finger. "Bring the," she hesitated, consciously aware that she could not say 'Rolls'. "Car around. We have a lead."

* * *

><p>Dumbfounded, Virgil sank back down onto the leather couch in the main room of Tracy Island's main villa.<p>

"Bail denied," he said, almost like he was stuck in a trance. "Bail _denied?! _How did this happen?!_"_

From beside him, Alan edged away nervously, shooting furtive, worried glances at Gordon, Gus and Tin-Tin. Given the closeness between Virg and Scott, they hadn't expected the chestnut haired Tracy to take the news well, but at the same time, they hadn't expected him to break down quite so fast. Virgil's stupor had meant that he hadn't been in a sound mental state to pilot the group back home; that task fell to Gordon and Alan, with Virgil's wife Gus keeping an eye on them all.

"He risks his life on a daily basis, doing what he does, and this is what he gets as thanks? Bail denied?! He has three – maybe four, based on something John mentioned – little kids to look after and all Scott gets is bail denied?!"

The vein on Virgil's forehead throbbed prominently, as it was so prone to do when he was close to blowing up.

"I need a drink," he muttered, rising up to the liquor cabinet to pour himself a stiff whiskey. The cabinet had been restocked once John had agreed and left the island to seek help for his alcohol addiction, much to Jeff's happiness.

"Virgil," Gordon began, somewhat tentatively. "This is not what we wanted at all, but we need to see if we can salvage any good from this predicament we're in."

Gordon, the only Tracy that was ever the optimist.

"And what good is that?" Virgil spat back acidly, knocking back the alcohol as though it was water.

Gordon fell silent, and looked to Alan for help. Alan held his hands up in surrender.

"Well, uh, I don't… I don't really know. But Mom always told us that everything happened for a reason, and tough times were sent to test us. Maybe this is what this is; a testing tough time."

"There should be no testing time."

That came from Alan.

"Scott didn't do what the cops are accusing him of. We all know that as well as we know our own names. But, so what if Scott did do it? So what if Scott did kill the Hood? He made the world a safer place; for everything that asshole did to Virgil and me, to us as a team, he _deserved_ to die."

"Alan?" A flabbergasted gasp from Gordon. "No one _deserves_ to die; that's why we're members of International Rescue."

"You heard me," Alan hissed out venomously, eyes flashing dangerously. "For all the pain and suffering Virg's gone through; for all the rehab he's still undertaking, for the torture the Hood put me through, for the fact that he rendered me sterile, unable to have more kids – " Alan broke off, realising he had divulged more information than he intended during his verbal onslaught.

Virgil made to move towards Alan, but Alan dodged it, not wanting any physical contact.

"Just… forget I said that last part. It's not pertinent to the discussion at hand. Don't ask me to feel sorry for the Hood's demise, though, because I don't."

Virgil seconded that notion, adding, "And until we get our full complement back, I want no part in International Rescue! If you can't guarantee that my work environment is safe, then I'm not working."

Gordon's head swivelled to Alan.

"Sorry, Gords, I'm with Virgil on this one."

All their differences aside now, Virgil and Alan were working on the same team. That much was obvious in the way they were backing and supporting each other.

"Tin-Tin?" Gordon asked, a last ditch hope to keep a semblance of normalcy in the family. "Gus?"

Both girls shook their heads, for reasons that they never disclosed. Gordon sighed, conceded defeat and winged a silent apology to the victims of future disasters.

Moving behind Jeff's desk, Virgil began to compose a statement, declaring that due to unforseen circumstances, International Rescue would be suspended indefinitely.


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: **Nope, I haven't forgotten about this. Just had to put it on hold while a little thing called life (not to mention uni exams) got in the way. Still, back now. Also, a monumental thank you for all the reading and reviewing and the PM-ing to get my butt back on track with this :) Not a lot of action in this, but definitely something I needed to write, if only for myself.  
><strong>**

**The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety. **

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter 15

Buried in the depths of the Malaysian jungle stood the Hood's castle, a pyramid like structure surrounded by a moat of trees and dense vegetation. It had been raided several months ago by various task forces, and a lot of illegal paraphernalia had been confiscated. But now, nine months later, it was a long, forgotten monument.

Well, almost forgotten.

From inside the shelter, a shadowed figure sat cross legged, hunched over a stolen Datapad, watching a televised newscast. His predecessor, his mentor, had taught him all the tricks of the trade when it came to acts of criminality, but he had absolutely loathed the use of technology.

But times changed.

Without the mentor there, the apprentice could step into his own right.

Manipulating computerised images was one of the apprentice's specialities, and he intended to use that to his advantage.

Not that he would be required to do much work; if the newscast was right, the stupidity of his inherited arch nemesis – the men behind International Rescue – had pretty much ensured that enough proof had been collected against him. All the apprentice had to do now was create some more incriminating evidence against the person who was suspected of murdering his predecessor.

With any luck, the man from International Rescue would be convicted of the crime the apprentice had carried out instead.

Sighing, the apprentice bowed his head and began to initiate the next part of his plan.

* * *

><p>Almost a week had passed since Scott had been remanded in custody, and it was finally time for him to meet who his cellmates were. Inevitable, really. He heard on the prison grapevine that one of his roommates was short-fused and quick to anger. The other was a most unsavoury character. The lowest of the low. Even amongst criminals, there was a hierarchal system, with those who perpetuated unspeakable crimes against children stuck at the bottom of the system.<p>

Not that Scott cared too much; he was feeling particularly lousy. He was tired, lethargic, with limbs that felt they had been filled with lead. His vision, normally perfect, blurred and swam before his eyes. He could feel the muscles in his legs cramp painfully, and he grimaced his way through it. Scott wasn't stupid; he knew exactly what was going on in his body, but he had no intention of doing anything to stop it. The chip embedded into his arm – an invention of Brains', one where insulin was released into his bloodstream in controlled intervals – must have been running out of insulin, and needed to be topped up. It was coming up to a year since the last time Brains had refuelled the chip.

And that posed a problem. On the medical forms he had filled in during the booking process, he had not disclosed the information that he was a diabetic, and had been for the past five years. He had not stated that he was insulin dependent when he had been incarcerated. How was he meant to get help for a problem, according to the county jail records, he wasn't supposed to have? He had been given a comprehensive medical exam after he had been booked, but diabetes wasn't flagged in his system because it was being controlled by the insulin chip.

The door to the cell slid open, and a figure in a radioactive orange suit sidled inside, amidst the catcalls of others.

"Damn baby killer," one person heckled. "You animal!"

Despite his lethargy, Scott's eyes flew open at that. Baby killer? So it was true? He was stuck in a cell with a person that was capable of taking a child's life? Belatedly, he realised that the new prisoner could have been wrongly accused of a crime he didn't commit, the same way he had. No matter what happened, Scott promised himself that his cell mate wouldn't know that he had kids.

Just in case.

As he fidgeted in a futile attempt to get more comfortable, Scott steadfastly ignored the eyes that were boring holes into him. The less he had to do with the new guy, the better.

Moving was a bad idea, Scott concluded, as the pneumatic pounding inside his head continued. He hadn't had an attack of hypoglycaemia this bad since a month after he was diagnosed. Scott needed food, mostly sugary foods, and he needed it fast, otherwise he ran the risk of slipping into a state of unconsciousness.

He struggled against drooping eyelids, fighting the inevitable, but to no avail. He could feel himself slipping under the onslaught of a problem he needed to rectify.

* * *

><p>The sun peeked through a series of grey clouds and lightly shone into the San Franciscan apartment. Having finally been discharged from hospital, Josie had taken up residence in the flat, after sending her son back to Tracy Island.<p>

"Your sons need you there," Josie had pointed out, drawing herself up to her full height of five foot nothing, yet still imposing enough for Jeff to heed her advice. "I will help look after things on this front. Go to your sons."

The elderly matriarch of the family pottered to the kitchen, sweeping her hair back up into its customary bun. First things first, she had to get a pot of coffee ready before she even contemplated doing anything else.

"Morning, Grams."

From where he sat, John flipped through the pages of a newspaper as he bit into a piece of toast, carefully, so he wouldn't spill crumbs on the suit he was wearing. His hair was combed and styled neatly, too. For reasons he had yet to disclose, John Tracy had taken a great deal of time and effort in achieving his current look.

"You're looking quite dapper today, John. And you're up before eight."

"Court convenes in an hour," John stated, as though that was explanation enough. "The Haddon case?" John elaborated at his grandmother's puzzled look. "Jury's coming back with a verdict."

In the midst of the events over the past weeks, Josie had forgotten about the Haddon trial. She had forgotten that her grandson's fiancée's murderers were having justice – or revenge – served unto them.

For most people, that would be the end of the matter. The perpetrators of the crime would be punished, and they would be able to move on with their life, but not for John. For John, justice would have been served, but it wouldn't be enough.

"Would you like company, John?"

John smiled, softly and sadly, although he was genuinely touched at his grandmother's offer of support. "I'll be okay, Grams. Besides, it's not as though I'll be completely alone; Mr and Mrs Mackenzie will be there."

As they should be, Josie knew. It was only right that parents were there to seek closure on their child's unlawful death.

"Anyway, I was planning on dropping in on Scott afterwards. It's visiting hours at the County Jail."

Josie nodded. She was well aware of that fact, since she had already agreed to watch over her great grandchildren while her granddaughter-in-law visited her husband.

From where he was sitting, John scrutinised his grandmother with cerulean blue eyes.

"Grams, I know you're unhappy about Scott being in jail, but there is nothing we can do about it. We have to find something that can help clear him, and I know that Lady Penelope is on the case."

"I know," she huffed. "But that still doesn't change anything. He should be here with his family!"

There was nothing John could say to that, because he fully agreed with his grandmother. Rinsing out his coffee mug, John rolled down the sleeves of his business shirt. "Grams?"

"Yes, dear?"

"What if this isn't enough? Jade didn't deserve to die the way she did; hell, she didn't deserve to die at all! I've wanted justice for this for so long, but what if it isn't enough?"

Josie regarded John steadily. "It will have to be enough."

That was not the only thing bugging John. Josie's intuition was telling her that there was more to John's antsy state than he had exposed.

"What if they hate me?" John asked quietly, so quietly that Josie had to strain her ears to hear his plaintive query. "Mr and Mrs Mackenzie?"

"And why would they hate you?"

"Because it's my fault she's dead. If I hadn't have proposed to her, she wouldn't have felt the need to catch a flight out to San Francisco to tell her parents the news in person. We were going to do it together; I would have spent a few days at home before flying out again to meet up with her. Then we would have broken the news to you guys. We had it all planned."

Seeing John troubled over this ripped away at Josie's heart. Her blond grandson had clearly been agonising this over a long period of time.

"I'm sure that's not the case, John," Josie said quickly. "You made Jade very happy, and that will mean more to them than anything else."

Shrugging into his suit jacket, John waved goodbye to his grandmother and made his way over to the court house.

* * *

><p>From where she sat, Lady Penelope scrutinised the security footage Parker had obtained during their trip to the hospital where the alleged crime occurred, and compared to the footage that showed Scott exiting the room the Hood had been held in. She couldn't quite put her finger on it – woman's intuition, maybe, or maybe she was so eager to get her good friend off the charges that she was clutching onto straws that didn't exist – but something struck her as odd. The footage that showed Scott on it had been manipulated in some way. Penelope didn't know how she knew that, but it was enough that she knew.<p>

Reaching over to her dressing table, Penny gathered her compact case and opened it up. "Lady Penelope calling Tracy Island. Come in, Tracy Island."

"Tracy Island receiving you loud and clear. Go ahead, Penny," Jeff's voice transmitted back.

"I was wondering if I could possibly send something through for Brains to take a look at. It has to do with Scott."

"What is it, Penny?" Jeff sprang to his feet, pacing in front of his desk. Whatever Penelope had found could be the key to acquitting Scott.

"I believe that some of the footage that has been gathered as evidence against Scott has been tampered with. I think that Brains will be able to identify how and who has done it."

Jeff nodded in agreement. If anyone could figure it out, it would be Brains.

"Send it straight through to him," Jeff instructed.

"FAB."

"Have you told the lawyer about what you've found?"

After Lady Penelope had introduced herself to Scott's lawyer, they had formed an alliance in working together to fight the charges. It also helped that the lawyer had been inducted into International Rescue's secret agent program, since the previous agent had double crossed them, which meant that she was more receptive to help from Penelope. Agents helped agents out.

"Not yet, Jeff. I shall do that immediately after this vid-call."

"Naturally. Penny?"

"Yes, Jeff?"

"Thank you."

"Think nothing of it."

There was a few moments of silence.

"I heard about the suspension of International Rescue."

Jeff bit down on his tongue, and his body posture stiffened. He hadn't approved of Virgil's call; he did not condone it. It was not Virgil's call to make, and Jeff intended to undo the mistake before irreparable damage came from it.

"Jeff," Penelope said softly. "Given the way things stand right now, it's for the best. The boys won't be fully focussed on the job, and there are more chances of things going wrong."

"I'm reversing the decision, Penny. IR is functional again. I've already floated the rumour that we had shut down for some urgent maintenance, but now we're back to business as usual."

Penelope bit her lip. "Jeff, are you sure that this is the right thing to do?"

A flash of steel was sent her way, but Penelope met the gaze without flinching.

"When I suggested a hiatus a while back, both Gordon and Virgil refused to agree to it."

"Circumstances change."

"I'm aware of that, Penny. If you told me one of my sons would end up in jail a fortnight ago, I would have laughed and shrugged it off. Look at the reality. But just because things are bad for us now, it doesn't mean we should subject others to pain and suffering. If we can help out when we're needed, we will."

"Are Virgil, Alan and Gordon aware of this?"

"Not yet."

In the background, the automated relay system shrieked into life. Someone, somewhere around the world needed International Rescue.

"Looks like they're about to find out," Jeff said, initiating the security code that would transform the lounge into International Rescue's Command and Control centre. "Duty calls, Penny."

"Of course."

"Penny, stay on the case."

"FAB, Jeff."

With that, the link dissolved into static. Mind focussed on his job, Jeff scrutinised the data that was coming in. A plane crash in the Andes, where a rescue via conventional methods would have taken an age, thus decreasing the rate of survival for those that had lived through the initial disaster. International Rescue was the only hope for survivors.

Responding to the alarm, Virgil, Alan, Tin-Tin and Gordon hurried into the room, puzzled. As far as they were concerned, they were on an indefinite hiatus.

"Commercial plane crash in the Andes. Alan, you take Thunderbird One and coordinate the rescue from the air; it's unlikely that there will be a place for you to land Virgil, Gordon, you're in Two. Thunderbirds are go!"

Unsurprisingly, Virgil and Alan remained rooted to the spot. Unsure, Gordon stayed still too.

"Boys, get moving," Jeff ordered, shooting them each a steely eyed gaze. "There are lives depending on us out there."

And that was enough to kick Gordon into action. Even if his brothers refused to partake in International Rescue, it didn't mean he was going to condemn hundreds of people to their death over something they had no control over. Gordon knew that while he had been trained in flying Thunderbird Two, Virgil would not stand for it, and would pilot the green beast instead.

But that wasn't the case.

"Virgil! Alan! I won't tell you again!"

While Gordon tipped, head first, into Thunderbird Two's chute, Alan came to and moved to the light fixtures that would lead him to Thunderbird One. Virgil shook his head and shot his father an unfathomable look, honey burnt eyes hardened. Wordlessly, Virgil turned his back on his brothers, turned his back on his father, turned his back on everything that they stood for, and walked away.


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety. **

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Sixteen

The media – pack of vultures, John thought while glaring at the throng of microphones that surrounded him - bustled outside the courtroom while he left. The jury had come back with a guilty verdict, and a sentence had been passed down upon the people who had brutally murdered his fiancée.

"Mr Tracy, do you feel justice has been served against your fiancée?"

John ducked his head from the relentless flash of photographic bulbs and pushed his way through.

"No comment," he gritted out, fighting to get out even faster. There were times when the thought of this case, and the proceedings of it, had pressed down on him, making him feel trapped. It was, John imagined, similar to the way Brains felt when he was forced to socialise with people who were not part of the Tracy clan; somewhat unsettling and almost claustrophobic.

In retrospect, it was probably that combined with grief that had made him so reliant on alcohol.

The guilty verdict from the court case had not come as a surprise to him, but John didn't feel any sense of closure from it. The gnawing, empty feeling remained, clawing away at his insides, an ever widening chasm filled with nothing. Time was not healing all his wounds.

In his peripheral line of sight, he could see two figures, standing hand in hand, united by grief.

Jade's parents.

John didn't know what possessed him to approach her parents, but he knew it was the right thing to do.

"Mr and Mrs Mackenzie?"

John waited until guarded eyes acknowledged him.

"I just wanted you to know that Jade…" he almost choked on the word. "Jade was an exceptional woman. She made me very happy, more happier than I thought I could be."

"As you did for her," came the response.

"We were going to get married," John rambled, as he was so prone to do when he was nervous.

"We know," the elder man said, somewhat impassively. His wife placed her hand over his arm and steered him towards an empty and secluded bench. "John, we don't blame you for what happened. From the information the police gave us, it was a random attack; they could have chosen anyone."

John knew better – after all, it was his involvement with International Rescue that had placed his fiancée in that situation – but held his tongue. He knew that there were times when it was better not to rock the boat.

"Please, will you tell us how you asked Jade?" she asked, patting the seat beside her. "I know Jade would have loved however you asked."

Thinking back, John smiled. Something inside of his chest loosened a bit and he realised that it was pain. Maybe, just maybe if he avoided the mistake his own father made, and talked to people instead of burying his heartache, he would begin to heal emotionally. He could accept, if not come to terms with it completely, his life instead of growing old, bitter and twisted like a Spiderman villain who disliked the hand of cards fate had dealt him.

"Of course I can," John said, as he sat down and began to recount his tale.

* * *

><p>The cold bit through Alan as he landed Thunderbird One on the snow covered tops of the Andes. He hadn't even left the cabin of the ship and he could already feel how cold the ambient temperature was. Pulling on a thermo-suit, Alan sighed deeply. If Gordon didn't get to the rescue site soon, the passengers that were trapped within the cabin of the downed plane would succumb to hypothermia and frostbite.<p>

In the distance, Alan could hear the drone of the engines, still running at full power. He could hear metal disintegrating within the turbines and see it throw out shrapnel in all directions, skewering its way into some passengers. He could smell the jet fuel, see the small conflagrations that had flared up in the moments after the crash, dancing their way towards trapped passengers. He could see other heroes, burnt from the flames or otherwise injured, trying to get to the others that were stuck. A valiant attempt, but not really practical since they didn't have the right equipment with them.

"Thunderbird Two from Thunderbird One, what is your estimated time of arrival?" Alan asked into the speaker.

"Thunderbird One from Thunderbird Two, I'm about ten minutes out from there," Gordon replied. "Got a place for me to land?"

"I've sent the coordinates through to you. Gordon, try and get here faster. It's not a good scene right now, and we're on minimum manpower."

"FAB."

As soon as Gordon had signed off, Alan stepped out from Thunderbird One. The first thing that struck him was the stench of jet fuel. It was overpowering, sickly sweet, and Alan struggled to keep his last meal in his stomach. He hated plane crashes. Clutching his bag of emergency supplies tightly in his hand, the temporary Field Commander made his way through the body of the splintered cabin. There was no need for him to set up Mobile Control – they were the only rescue service in the location – and the faster he could get some aid to the survivors, the better their chances of survival. From the left of the semi darkened cabin – wires that had been ripped out from the walls sparked at regular intervals – Alan heard a pitiful wail. Pulling back a seat back that had bent over itself, Alan discovered that a four year old boy had been strapped into it, glassy eyes staring into nothing.

"Hey, hey, kid, can you hear me?" Alan asked, gently shaking the boy.

There was another moan.

"International Rescue. I'm here to help." Trying to reassure the little boy, Alan ran a hand through the boy's hair. The boy shrieked in pain and tried to move away, and when Alan pulled his hand back, a smear of blood was visible. Alan suppressed a groan; there was nothing worse than children with head injuries. Their condition could deteriorate fast, and he didn't have anyone to spare to watch over him.

"Gordon, hurry the hell up," he muttered, while delving into his supply kit to get out some bandages to stem the flow of blood. With a small smile, Alan left the kid with a pinger so that Gordon would be able to get him out and set him up in Sick Bay in the belly of Thunderbird Two before he moved further in the mangled wreckage.

There were a few people he found, barely clinging to life, but no amount of resuscitation on Alan's part could bring them back. Dejected he left them as they flatlined under his hands.

Gordon, who had made his way into the interior after securing the survivors from the mountainside in Thunderbird Two, placed one hand on Alan's shoulder. There were no words, or glances exchanged. There was no need. Knowing that there was not much more they could do – the rest of the bodies had perished long before they got there – Gordon steered his numb brother away, pushing back the feeling of uselessness that was churning in his stomach.

It wasn't that they hadn't dealt with fatalities before, of course they had, but the sheer scale of the devastation was something they had never come across on their own. Gordon and Alan had always had Scott and Virgil with them when it happened. Virgil and Scott were the ones who dealt with the deceased, never the younger two. They wouldn't have allowed it. This first time for them, not having their hands held by their brothers, not letting them clean up the mess, the surge of emotions that ran through them felt like a snake shedding skin, stripped to the core, leaving them raw and vulnerable.

To Gordon and Alan, there was no plausible way for the situation to worsen.

Only it did.

The top level of snow on the Andes was lightly packed, loose and slippery. The slightest disturbance could set off a small avalanche, and the crunch of the snow beneath their boots proved to be enough. It was quick, but it was slow at the same time. The snow shifted, a white flash careering its way down the mountain face, dragging Thunderbird One along with it, until it disappeared out of view.

"No, no, no, no!" Alan shouted, lunging towards the ship. His hands were outstretched, almost as if he had thought he would have been able to hold the Bird in place with his hands.

"Did you apply the handbrake?" Gordon asked. "What about the anti-slide suction caps?"

"Of course I did!" Alan roared back, insulted that Gordon thought he would make such a basic mistake. "I'm not a rookie, y'know!"

Once the snow had settled, the boys peered with trepidation over the cliff face. Lying at the bottom was Thunderbird One, now a mangled wreck, one wing being held to the body by one set of rivets. The nose cone had crumpled and the struts she had been standing on were broken, sticking up in the air like broken legs.

"Scott's gonna kill me," Alan moaned, slamming a hand into his forehead in frustration.

Gordon narrowed his eyes and shook his head at Alan. The seemingly innocent phrase had struck a nerve with him. "Too soon to say flippant remarks like that under the circumstances, Alan. Wash your mouth out."

"What're we going to do?" Alan stressed, as he knew Thunderbird One was rendered unflyable.

Gordon quirked one eyebrow. "I have a cunning plan."

* * *

><p><em>A prison is a prison<em>, Scott thought drowsily, waking up to different surroundings, _no matter how it is disguised._

It was true, though; he was in a different location, and he couldn't for the life of him remember how he got there. He could smell the cheap disinfectant, the stench of rubber gloves and stale urine and blood, and he knew he had been admitted into hospital. Wasn't quite sure why, but that would come in time. Blinking, Scott tried to raise an arm to rub away at his eyes, and he felt fire from his ribs, underneath all the bandages and dressings. Ah, that would be why; they must have realigned his broken ribs and taped them up so it would heal faster. At last, as it had hurt like hell.

Becoming more and more aware of his surroundings, Scott could sense all the wires that had been channelled into various veins. A catheter too, draining small amounts of blood out of his body, which meant the attack to his kidneys had been more damaging than he had initially thought.

_Be thankful for small mercies,_ his head told him,_ at least you're getting treated for it now._

The security guard though, hovering over him like an over grown bat, seemed unnecessary to Scott. What was he going to do, orchestrate an escape? He could barely stand up without anything aching. He was too doped up to even think about it. Ignoring the withering look sent his way when Scott groaned slightly at the pain, Scott somehow managed to get himself sitting upright.

One thing was for sure; he wanted to know how he got here, and the best person to ask would be the nurse that was updating his notes.

"You had a visitor but you were unresponsive when the correctional officer came to escort you to the visiting hall. Upon examination, it was discovered that your blood sugar levels were not in the normal parameters. Your ribs were misaligned and you were brought here to have them reset in surgery. You've also had severe damage to your kidneys; that would have required being admitted into here for treatment anyway."

Tired, still groggy from the effects of whatever sedative they had slipped him, Scott closed his eye briefly and nodded. For some reason, he thought back to when Brains had inserted his insulin chip under his arm.

"To ensure, uh, optimal functioning," Brains had warned him all those years ago, "you must, uh, endeavour to, uh, regulate your dietary intake for insulin to be released as needed. If you, uh, happen to miss s…s…several meals in a row, or not eat enough, there can, uh, be adverse effects. The chip will, uh, malfunction. S…S…Should that occur, I have, uh, left a loophole in the programming. This, uh, means that I can disable it remotely, should we need to, and the chip will, uh, then lie dormant under your skin. You will, uh, have to go back to the, uh, injections should that happen."

Scott had nodded sombrely. "Consider taking regular meals done, Brains. And no way in hell are we disabling this anytime soon; the needles are fiddly at rescue sites, especially when I can't dispose of them safely, and the tablets don't work for me."

And that, Scott realised, would have been the catalyst. There was no chance of his chip running out of insulin; he had caused the chip to malfunction by not eating the food that came his way. He was the reason he was in here. It was all beginning to fall into place. Silently, Scott hoped that Brains had deactivated the chip when he had learnt that Scott was going to be held without bail. It would stop him overdosing on insulin, as he was sure he would have to revert back to the needles now.

"When can I get out of here?" he asked flatly. From beside him, the security officer looked at him, eyebrows quirked.

"Most people dread heading back to jail," the guard offered up.

"I'm not most people. When am I getting out of here?"

"Whenever the doctor deems you're ready to be discharged."

Scott sighed. Another indefinite answer, much like the fact that he didn't know how long he would spend in jail. Yep, a prison was a prison, no matter what it looked like.

* * *

><p>Fists clenching, Jeff Tracy sat behind his desk and sucked in a deep breath. Things at the rescue site were not going as smoothly as he had hoped. He had expected many fatalities – given the devastation that came with plane crashes, he was not fool enough to hope that there were few casualties – but he had wanted it to be as straightforward as possible.<p>

But it hadn't worked out that way. From the information Alan had imparted – quaking in his boots, no less – Thunderbird One was now lying in a crevice, rendered useless. The plan of action was to ferry the survivors to the nearest hospital and then return to drag One out of the snow with high tensile attachments and fly it back on Two. One would be a dead weight, dragging and slowing Gordon and Alan's arrival at Base, but there was no way around it. Even worse, based on the damage Alan described, Thunderbird One was not serviceable for any rescues in the immediate future.

Taking a gulp of his coffee, Jeff sighed. Maybe Virgil had the right idea when he enforced a shut down. There was something to be said for looking out for their own, but to him, that wasn't an option. Jeff could not bring himself to condemn thousands of people to an unwanted… unneeded death just because things had gone belly up.

From the left of his vision, John's portrait began to flash into life. Setting his cup down on a coaster, Jeff activated the link, knowing it would be bad news. Considering how the day had gone; the rescue call out, Virgil's defection from his work, the less than satisfactory success rate of the rescue, the mishap with Thunderbird One, it would be just like life to kick Jeff when he was down.

"Go ahead, John."

"Scott's been admitted into hospital," John said without delay. His voice came through steady, even though the pinched look on his face betrayed how calm he sounded.

"What?! Why?!"

"I don't know exactly, but I had a feeling it has something to do with his diabetes," John admitted. "When I arrived at jail for visiting hours, the guards said that he was being treated in the infirmary and would not be able to see visitors. When I got back to the flat, I had come up with a plan to find out what had happened."

Jeff's eyebrows quirked up at that. "Oh, yes?"

John chewed on his lip nervously. The end result had justified the methods used, he had told himself, but now he was facing his father, he was beginning to quail a bit. "I downloaded the voice recordings from Five's console, and other secret intelligence satellites in the vicinity, and isolated the relevant recordings that were transmitted from the jail to the hospital at around the time I was visiting."

Jeff could feel the blood boil within him. Thunderbird Five's resources were not meant to be utilised in such a manner. As far as Jeff knew, it was an illegal act that John had performed, hacking into other nation's security systems to access those recordings. John had the smarts to do that, no doubt about it, but Jeff had hoped that he had bequeathed a strong sense of ethics in all of his sons. Apparently, he had not been successful when it came to his two eldest boys. Jeff could understand why John had acted the way he did, but he could not condone it.

"John," he rumbled, building up to a deafening roar. "What, exactly, did you do?!"

"Dad, I know where you're headed with this, but I won't get caught. I covered my tracks, and I was in and out before the firewalls could detect me. Dad, trust me, they won't get me on this. They haven't before, have they?"

Jeff considered berating John some more, but then the reality of the conversation it him. His eldest son had been taken into hospital, and he didn't know why.

"He was transferred to the prisoners' ward in the hospital," John confirmed, nodding once more.

Jeff squeezed the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. "And you're sure why? It was the diabetes?"

John nodded his head, letting his quiff fall into his eyes. "Amongst other ailments, namely broken ribs and bruised kidneys, but I don't know how that happened. Tash isn't taking the news so well, but given her current mood swings from the pregnancy, it's understandable. She's alternating between hysterical – how could her numbskull of a husband leave out health details that could save his life – and livid that she can't visit him and make sure he's alright. The upshot of her not being able to visit him is that his condition isn't life threatening. Grams is calming her down now."

From where he sat on Tracy Island, Jeff could hear the muffled strains of conversation, two female voices overlapping each other. So intent was he in eavesdropping, he missed seeing Brains walk into the lounge, toolbox in hand, ready to service the passenger entry to Thunderbird Three.

"From what I could isolate from the voice recordings, apparently, Scott's blood sugar levels spiralled out of control. Scott did not disclose the fact that he is a diabetic to the county lock up, so no one was watching for it."

"Why would he do that?" Jeff questioned, frowning at his eldest boy's uncharacteristic behaviour. After the past eight years, it wasn't like Scott to omit details like that from a health form, especially if it was to benefit him.

"The chip," Brains stammered quietly, a shrewd scenario forming in his mind. "The chip will be malfunctioning."

Eyes darted towards the bespectacled man, forcing him to explain.

"As I, uh, explained to Scott when I, uh, implanted the chip, it requires a stable diet."

"That's why he always carries some granola bars around with him on rescues."

"Precisely, John. If his, uh, energy intake dropped below a…a minimum level, then the, uh, chip will not function as it should."

At Jeff's pursed lips, almost as though he had been sucking on lemons, Brains felt the need to disclose some information that could help Jeff relax.

"I can, uh, deprogram the, uh, chip remotely, s…s…so that it will not, uh, cause more harm to S…S…Scott."

"Do it," Jeff instructed.

"It will, uh, mean he will go back to, uh, insulin injections," Brains pointed out, somewhat sadly. The reasoning behind the chip was so Scott did not have to take the injections. Sticking himself with a needle everyday was not something the Tracy heir enjoyed doing, and the chip had seemed like a much better alternative.

Jeff knew what Brains was hinting at. "Well, Scott will just have to suck it up and put up with it."

From his video screen, John nodded in agreement. "I'd better let you go, Dad. Heard about the rescue call on the news, so you'll need your focus on that."

"Keep us informed of any change, John," Jeff said, somewhat needlessly. Of course John would notify they if things took a drastic turn.

"FAB."

With that, the screen dissolved into static.


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: ****The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety.**

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Seventeen

The waves lapped at the foreshore of the beach, the birds chirped happily from their nests in trees, but the weather could not brighten the mood of one surly Tracy.

How dare his father insist – no, order – him and his brothers out to a disaster while ignoring the own disaster that was looming under his nose?

Frustrated, Virgil Tracy flung a pebble out into the ocean, grunting as the muscles surrounding his shoulders seized up slightly. Eight months of intense physical therapy had worked wonders, but Virgil's muscles were still not as supple and flexible as he would have liked.

"Making you feel better?"

Virgil didn't even have to turn around to recognise his wife's voice. "Not really, but going out on that rescue would have made me more bad tempered."

"Given your temperament over the past few weeks, I wouldn't think that was possible," Gus parried back tartly, which raised Virgil's ire even more. "You need to pull your head out of your ass and see the bigger picture. I'm not the only one that thinks that."

"What do people want from me?!" he roared. "How can anyone expect me to work in this scenario?! How can Gordon and Alan go out and save strangers when we can't even save our own brother?!"

"Have you ever considered that they went out on this rescue because they know that sitting on their butt at home is not going to change things? Scott would still be in jail, whether they stayed or went." Gus challenged, pulling her hair back out of her eyes. "They do it because it keeps their mind from dwelling on something they can't change. They do it because they know that that is what Scott would want them to do."

An unfathomable look flashed over Virgil's face, and his honey-burnt eyes had a steely glint Gus hadn't seen in a long time. "Family comes first."

Gus nodded and jabbed her husband in his chest with one pointy fingernail. "Which is _exactly_ why you should have gone with Gordon and Alan." Lowering her voice, she continued, "You know the devastation that comes with plane crashes. You know that they've never dealt with something like this on their own; you and Scott have always been there to help with the fallout."

"Everyone has to grow up. Naivety causes nothing but pain."

Seeing the disappointed look on Gus' face made Virgil soften slightly.

"I'll talk to them when they come back, but I'm not going back on rescues. My decision on that front stands. I'm having no part in International Rescue until Scott comes back."

And there it was; the crux of all the problems they were facing, in Virgil's opinion. For most of his life, Virgil couldn't remember a time without his big brother. They had stuck by each other through thick and thin, and to carry on working for International Rescue when it was, in a twisted, convoluted way, the catalyst in placing Scott behind bars – after all, if they had not responded to the emergency call out in San Francisco, none of this would be happening. The universe the Tracy family had created had been shredded to pieces, and life, as Virgil knew it, was beginning to unravel from the seams outwards.

"I just… I want life back to the way it was before. No stress, no complications."

What Virgil meant by that was that he wanted his family back, and by that, he meant that he wanted Scott nearby. Gus was astute enough to decipher what Virgil really desired, and she knew exactly what she could do to help Virgil.

"I know you do," she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek. "I'm heading back to the villa. Are you coming?"

Linking his hand with his wife's, Virgil nodded and he led the way back.

* * *

><p>Scorch marks burned onto the rooftop of the local hospital as Gordon brought Thunderbird Two down for a gentle landing. From the inside of Two's Sick Bay, Alan could see various medical staff waiting for them, and he smiled reassuringly at the survivors.<p>

"Alrighty then, this is where we part ways then."

Opening the hatch, Alan used his free arm to help people out of Two's belly. Quickly, he managed to upright a passenger that had lost her balance.

"Easy there," he smiled, helping her over the step in the door. "You don't want to hurt yourself any more than you already are."

Eventually, there was no one, bar the four year old child, left in the belly of Thunderbird Two. Alan approached the four year old boy, but the child folded in on himself, making him as small as possible, whimpering as his wrist twisted.

"Hey, buddy, I'm not going to hurt you," Alan tried to cajole the boy out of himself. "I want to help you."

The boy burrowed further into the blanket he was wrapped in.

"You like teddy bears?" Alan held up a small cuddly toy in an attempt to coax him out. "We call him Smushy."

The boy peered out from the crook of his elbow, only to knock the bear out of Alan's hand.

"You don't like bears?" Alan asked, but he did not get a response. Knowing when to call it quits, Alan activated the intercom link between Sick Bay and the flight deck of Thunderbird Two.

"What is it, Alan?"

"We have a slight problem; one of our passengers doesn't want to leave. Can you help me out a bit?"

Gordon heaved a sigh, intuitively knowing that it was the four year old. In the short time that they had spent together, the little guy had become quite attached to Gordon, and vice versa, and knowing that they would soon be separated made things harder. It was no wonder that the boy didn't want to leave.

"Let me finish running the shutdown diagnostics, and then I'll see what I can do. I should be there in a minute."

True to his word, Gordon appeared through the sliding door, ready to take over from where Alan had failed. The boy looked up and launched himself onto Gordon, clinging onto the man like a koala bear, being careful to cradle his wrist.

"Hey, there, you're alright now," Gordon murmured, supporting the boy as he made his way over to a vacant medical team. "These nice people over here are going to take care of you, and make you better, but they can't do it if you cling onto me."

The boy just clung tighter and burrowed his head into the soft material of Gordon's shirt. Gordon shifted the boy in his arms again, stopping the medical personnel from prising the boy off him.

"Hang on," he told them. "This little kid's frightened; give me two minuted with him to calm him down."

Waiting until the eavesdroppers had buzzed off, Gordon bounced the boy higher up in his arms. "You know something? I don't even know your name. I'm Gordon."

The boy looked at Gordon straight in the eye, chocolate brown eyes meeting hazel, and he smiled slightly.

"What's your name, huh?"

The voice was hoarse, barely louder than a whisper. "Benny."

"Benny, huh? Well, Benny, do you think you can do something for me? There are some people here that want to help you, to make you better, but they can't do that while you cling onto me. Do you think you can let go of me while they make you better? I promise to stay with you while they fix you up."

With that assurance, Benny allowed himself to be carried away by the medical team. Gordon was quick to follow, but Alan had placed a restraining arm over Gordon.

"And where are you going?"

"Inside." Gordon did not elaborate any further, but Alan knew exactly what was happening.

"Gordon," he sighed wearily. "Don't make this harder for yourself, don't become attached to him. The more attached you get to that boy, the harder it will be to let him go."

"It's too late for that, Alan. Much too late for that."

Without looking back, Gordon followed the medical team into the emergency room.

* * *

><p>It was a rare occurrence, but Jeff Tracy did leave his desk during a rescue mission. Sitting behind his desk was a chafing experience for him right now. Normally, when he was behind his desk, he was sure of himself, in control and command of his life, but the events of the past two weeks had shot that notion to pot. Everything he had worked hard for, his sons, International Rescue, the things that helped define his life, was unravelling before his eyes, and he didn't know how to fuse it back together again.<p>

From where he perched on the balcony railings, he could see Virgil enter the lounge, frown at the portraits on the wall and move past them towards the kitchen.

"Virgil!" Jeff called out, beckoning his middle son.

The chestnut haired man pivoted on the spot slowly, and he narrowed his eyes at his father, barbing all his disdain into one look. "What?"

"Can you come here, please?"

Grudgingly, Virgil took baby steps forward.

"Don't worry, Virgil, I'm not going to chew you out on your decision to stand down."

"You're not?"

"No, Virgil, I'm not." Jeff slung his arm over Virgil's shoulders, noting the flash of pain that shot through his son. "When I asked you if you wanted to be a part of International Rescue, I did so on the condition that you volunteered your services; I would never order you to participate in a rescue if you didn't want to."

"What are you trying to tell me, Dad?"

Jeff squirmed; apologies were not something he had delivered many of in his life, least of all to his middle son. "I'm trying to say I'm sorry, and that you're right. We can't keep running International Rescue. After all, who's there to rescue the rescuers when we need it?"

Virgil hardly dared to believe his ears. Was his father really saying this, or was he hallucinating the entire scene? Never, in all his 27 years of existence, had his father openly admitted to being wrong about decisions he made in his businesses.

"You were right, Virgil, and I should have trusted your choices. I can't apologise enough for that misjudgement."

"It's okay, Dad," Virgil said, willing to put his father at ease. Having his father acknowledge that his brothers and himself couldn't keep International Rescue running was what Virgil wanted all along. "Just as long as you've noted my opinion on the situation."

"I have, son," Jeff sighed heavily. "I have."

No words were exchanged from that point onwards. None needed to be. Instead, father and son moved back into the lounge, waiting for the other boys to find their way back home.

* * *

><p>It had been a struggle separating Benny from Gordon, but somehow Gordon had found himself prised away from the boy that had wanted him by his side so badly. Now, he stood in the blistering cold with Alan, trying to find a way of recovering Thunderbird One without causing more damage. It was hard for him to focus, as his thoughts kept drifting back towards Benny.<p>

"What do you think, Gordy?"

It was this question that drew Gordon out of his reverie. "Sorry, what?"

Alan's face hardened. "You haven't been listening to a word, have you?"

"Hey, if you had done your job properly, we wouldn't be in this predicament, would we?"

"I did my job properly," Alan snarled, furling his hands into fists. "I applied all the safety checks we need when we land on snow."

"Then why is Thunderbird One lying buried under a pile of snow?" Gordon retorted hotly.

Alan clamped down tight on his tongue; getting into a raging argument with Gordon wouldn't help their predicament. "I think," he began slowly, "if you heat the snow with Thunderbird Two's retro fire, it should melt. Then we can jury rig One on top of Two's body, store the broken parts of One in the pod and fly home."

"I don't think it will work," Gordon countered. "But you can double check with Virgil. Just give Base a call."

Alan nodded in agreement and pushed some buttons on his watch to activate his link. "Alan calling Base. Come in, Base."

"Go ahead, Alan. Is Thunderbird One secured yet?"

"We have a slight hitch – One's too large to fit in the pod, and Gordon has his doubts on whether Two can fly with One attached to her underside. Any thoughts, Virg?"

From the screen, Alan could see that Virgil was raising his eyebrows at his father.

"You strap One to Two like that, and Two won't be able to fly; the aerodynamics will be thrown off kilter."

"Well, what should we do?"

"I would rig Thunderbird One on Two's underside and bring them back home that way. You'll have to compensate for increased drag and reduced flight efficiency, and the fuel consumption will be massive, but it should work."

"How sure are you of this?" Alan questioned.

"Not at all; Scott and I have never had to do this before."

That felt like a slap in the face for Alan – of course Scott and Virg had never made such a monumental mess of things. It irked Alan, as he knew that if Virgil was there, the load of the rescue would have been more equally distributed and it was entirely possible that the mishap with One would never have occurred. They would have finished the rescue faster and been out of there before the snow had fallen, snatching One down with it.

"We'll give it a go, Virgil," Alan sighed, begrudgingly adding, "Thanks for the advice."

"I'll let you get back to things, then."

As soon as the line between them had disintegrated, Gordon stepped into the cockpit of Thunderbird Two, hovered over the mound of snow which shrouded One and fired the retros. The snow sublimed, changing from a solid to a puddle of sludge.

"Okay, Alan, hook her up," Gordon ordered, lowering Two's inbuilt cable tension clips to attach One safely.

It took him a while, since he was working solo, but eventually Alan had managed to secure One on Two's belly snugly, and convince himself that One would not fall off mid-flight. Clambering on board Two, Alan moved through the cabin and took his passenger seat behind Gordon

"Time to go home, Gordon. At last!"

With that, Thunderbird Two banked to the right and, with her heavy load, staggered off into the horizon.


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: Dimwit me; this has been sitting in the document manager for almost a week without me uploading it. I'm not too sure about this chapter, but it needed to be written. The characters hijacked the story and demanded it. Hopefully, it turned out okay.**

**The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety.**

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Eighteen

At three and a bit years old, Luke Thomas Tracy knew many things about his life. He knew that he had red hair, green eyes, ten fingers and ten toes, and that water in this new place tasted icky, like the swimming pool back home. He knew that he had a Mommy and a Daddy who loved him more than sunshine and daisies – whatever that meant, even when they yelled at him and stuck him in the Time-Out Chair – as well as an older sister that would play with him when she was bored and the dummy baby brother wasn't as much fun as her. All Nick did was dribble and cry. He knew that when he had nightmares, and he woke up screaming, his Daddy would be there, and Daddy would wrap him up in a tight hug and promise that he wouldn't let the monster get him.

"I love you so very much, Luke," Daddy had told him one night when he was little, still dressed in his superhero uniform, "and there is no way Mommy or I would let anything bad happen to you. The monster would have to get through me, then Mommy, to get to you."

But his Daddy wasn't here now, and Mommy hadn't heard him yell himself awake, and the monster had been waiting for him and Daddy and gobbled Daddy up. Daddy was the only person who could make it better, solve his troubles, but Daddy had been eaten.

At three and a bit years of age, Luke knew exactly what he wanted to be when he was big, like Mommy was. He wanted to be just like Daddy, the man who was always there for him.

But why did he have to wait until he was big?

He had overheard Mommy and Uncle Johnny talking; Daddy was out of the hopsital – that was what it sounded like – and was in a place called jail because he in big trouble with a capital T. Mommy had told him and Mel that jail was like a big time-out chair. Well, at his age, Luke had figured out that it was possible to escape the time-out chair, at least until Mommy and Daddy had worked out what he had done. After all, he had been placed in the time-out chair many times before.

Light seeped through from the gap between the floor and Mommy and Daddy's room door, so Luke knew that Mommy was still awake, even though it was very late since it was dark and scary outside.

"Mommy?" he asked as he entered the room, climbing on the bed to shake her awake. "Mommy?"

Tash's eyes fluttered open upon hearing her eldest son's voice, rousing her from her light doze, and she gathered him up in a hug. "What's wrong, Luke?"

"Monster took me away," he mumbled into her sleep-shirt, "Daddy wasn't there to stop it."

"Luke, it was just a dream. It's not going to happen in real life. No monster is going to take you away from us; I won't let it."

"I want Daddy."

"So do I, baby, so do I."

Luke blinked expectantly at his mother. "Mommy?"

"Yes?"

"It's dark outside."

"I know. It's night time; the time when most people are asleep."

Luke nodded; this was exactly his point. "We can sneak Daddy home with us. The plane is very fast."

Tash sighed. Life could be so simple for a three year old. Life could also be so complex. "It's not quite like that, Luke. We'll talk about it tomorrow. In the meantime, you need to go back to sleep. Stay here for the night; that way the monster won't get you again."

"Love you, Mommy," Luke said, curling up into a ball next to Tash.

"I love you too, Luke."

As Luke drifted back to sleep, Tash sighed and folded her arms over her slightly expanded stomach. The separation between Scott and their children was clearly taking its toll, and she wondered just how much damage her family would have to endure before Scott came back to them.

* * *

><p>It had been a long time coming, but Scott was finally well enough to be discharged from his stint in hospital. Under normal circumstances – not being held prisoner would constitute that – this would be cause for celebration. However, there was something grating about having to go back to the same jail cell, stare at the same four walls for hours on end. What made it worse was the restrictions that would be placed on Scott – he would have to eat whatever delectable delights came his way at fixed times, have his insulin administered out to him by a nurse in the jail's medical wing, lose all independence he had in regards to holding control over his diabetes.<p>

The only silver lining was that now he was out of hospital, he was able to receive visits from his family. Speaking of, he had called his wife to – somewhat redundantly, as he was sure John had hacked into the computer systems and already discovered that he had been in and out of hospital – to let her know that she would be able to visit him again, so he was hoping for a visit. Nearly a month and a half of not seeing her – a severe infection on his surgery site delayed his discharge from hospital – of not seeing her, being with the family they had started together, especially since she was pregnant with their fourth child, was eating away at Scott from the inside. Not only that, but after the latest visit with his lawyer – the meeting where they had worked through possible defences – Scott knew that he had to talk about his future with Tash. Scott was prepared for the worst case scenario – he had long made his peace with it, ever since he had been ten, ever since the avalanche – but he knew it wasn't fair to take his wife and kids blind down the path with him.

Actually, on second thoughts, Scott was slightly dreading visiting hours. While he had no doubt that Tash would be there as soon as she could, Scott was also aware of the fact that she had no qualms in haranguing him over not informing the jail staff of his medical conditions. Truth be told, Scott was slightly terrified of his wife when she was on the warpath and he was her victim – not that he would ever tell her that.

The cell door slid open and a correctional officer grabbed his forearm in a vice like grip.

_I can walk, thanks,_ Scott thought bitterly, trying to shrug the grip off him, feeling very much like a chastised child. It did not work. If anything, the guard just tightened his grip.

"Blood sugar test," the guard grunted, frogmarching Scott towards the medical bay.

There was no point for it, Scott felt. Now that his diabetes was being managed, he was physically feeling much better. But, as a prisoner, he had little to no say in the matter. Resigned to his fate, Scott let the guard march him away to get his blood sugars measured.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Dad, can I talk to you for a minute?"<p>

From his paperwork – it really did seem to multiply like rabbits – Jeff looked up to see his red haired boy poking his head around the corner.

"Of course you can, son. I always have time for my boys." Jeff pulled off his reading glasses and motioned for Gordon to sit down. "What's on your mind?"

There was no easy way to say it, so Gordon was just going to come out and say it.

"I'd like to adopt a child."

That threw Jeff for a curveball. Of all the things he was expecting, that was not it. Gordon had spent most of his free time maintaining the Thunderbirds, swimming and taking many trips off to the mainland, so Jeff was expecting something related to spare parts, or improvements that could have been made to the machines.

"Well, a specific child, actually. I've been thinking about it for a while, actually."

A pair of grey eyebrows quirked upwards. So this was not, in fact, a spur of the moment thing.

"How long, Gordon?"

"Since our last rescue." Gordon sighed, raked a hand over his hair.

"I think you'd better explain, Gordon. Start from the beginning, and tell me everything that made you reach this decision."

There was another profound sigh. How could Gordon present the best case possible to his father? There were so many things he wanted to say, and unlike John, Gordon struggled to articulate his ideas eloquently.

"It started off on our last rescue," Gordon began.

From where he sat, Jeff drew himself higher up in his chair. There were strict rules that were enforced to try and maintain secrecy at all costs, but it seemed that Gordon was throwing caution to the wind.

"I found him in the wreckage, and I stayed with him for most of the rescue effort, and we just bonded, really," Gordon gabbled out, as he was so prone to doing when he was nervous. "I know what you're thinking, Dad," Gordon interrupted, as Jeff had just opened his mouth. "And you're wrong. Sure, maybe I did stuff up a bit when I was younger – after all, how else do we explain Alan's behaviour – but I will be responsible for him. I'm not kidding; I'm ready for that responsibility. I've seen Scott with his kids, and I want it."

Gordon paused for a moment, just for emphasis of his point.

"Dad, I want kids, but given my situation, I'm never going to have them, at least, not when they're biologically mine. Benny's four years old and he's orphaned. He's got no family left, and chances are he'll be shuttled around various foster homes since no one will take him. We know how hard it can be with one parent, but Benny doesn't have that, and Benny doesn't deserve the crap he's going to face. No child does."

Narrowing one eye to an almost squint, Jeff eyed his son speculatively, sizing him up. Gordon noted the scrutiny he was undergoing, and as a result, drew himself up to his full height in his chair. Almost like being a specimen under a microscope, and Gordon wanted to make a good impression. His impassioned plea – somehow, he had managed to string a bunch of coherent sentences together – had appealed to Jeff's humanitarian side. Of that much, Gordon was sure, and with memories of how hard life was without a mother, Gordon and Jeff were intent on making sure that the same situation did not happen to other children around the world.

In Jeff's mind, there was no doubt that Gordon wouldn't follow through with his plan. In that sense, Scott, Gordon and Alan were more alike than they thought; once they had an idea in their head, they would run with it, and hang anyone who stood in their way. Realistically, Jeff knew that there was no way of stopping Gordon from adopting the boy if he really wanted to.

With a soft smile, Jeff nodded his approval of the idea. "Gordon, if you want to adopt Benny and make him your son, then I will do whatever I can to help you."

"Thanks, Dad," Gordon smiled. With his day made several degrees brighter by the news, Gordon bounded out of the room, intent on getting the paper work started.

When Gordon was working for a cause he truly believed in, he would slave away at it until it was completed. International Rescue may have been grounded, but nothing, absolutely nothing, was going to stop him from rescuing a little boy in need.

* * *

><p>A fire brand on her heart.<p>

That was what it felt like.

It hurt. It actually physically hurt her to see him in there, sitting opposite her, so close to him, yet unable to because of the Plexiglass between them, shackled and chained up like an animal that couldn't be tamed.

Completely and patently untrue of her Scotty; the man couldn't harm a butterfly, and she knew that Scott hated butterflies almost as much as he detested the snow.

Carefully masking her emotions, she offered up a small half smile. It would be awful for Scott in here, and she didn't need to make him feel guilty for being in jail just because it was affecting her.

"Hi," he said dully, training his eyes on the ground.

"Scott, look at me."

Reluctantly, blue eyes raised to meet green.

"Hi, baby."

"Just get it over with," Scott ground out, sounding just as tired and worn out as he felt.

"I'm not to tear strips off you for your idiocy," Tash replied. "Not yet, anyway – I'll do it when you're home with us. I'm not here for that; I'm here to see you."

"How are the kids?"

"Confused. They want to know when you're coming home again. I've tried to explain it to them, but I don't think I did a great job of it. They want to see you, and I think it would be good for you as well if they visit."

There was a glacial tone in his voice and it matched the cool depths of his eyes when Scott replied, "No. Absolutely not. They are not seeing Daddy in jail, nor am I exposing them to any of the people that are accused of child sex crimes, murder and other unthinkable acts. I love them too much to jeopardise them that way."

"I went for an ultrasound today, after a check up with the doctor," Tash revealed. Talking to Scott about her day gave her a feeling of familiarity – it was something they had started when they were first living together at Yale, and it was an easy habit to fall back into.

"Yeah? Is the baby okay? Healthy?"

"Yeah. I, um, I saw the gender of the baby on the screen," Tash babbled, as she did when she was nervous. "I know that sometimes we find out, and sometimes we don't, so I was wondering if you wanted to know what sex she is."

There was a stunned, awkward silence.

"Or he," Tash muttered, faltering into nothing. "If she's a boy."

"We're having another little girl?" There was a note of stunned disbelief in Scott's voice, also a touch of sadness. With each child he and his wife had, Scott had promised himself that he would be there for all the milestones in his kids' lives, and his circumstance had caused him to betray his promise.

"Yeah, we are. She's perfectly healthy – a little larger than expected, so I think my dates might have been wrong, and this baby will be getting a new due date. It's that or she's just taking after you; unlike me, you're no midget."

"Could be like Luke; he was pretty big for a newborn."

There was a slight lull in the conversation. Scott took it as an opportunity to gather his courage and inform Tash about a major decision he had made. It was one he knew his father wouldn't be happy with, and his brothers wouldn't understand his stance at all, but his wife was someone who would stand by him and back his play. Of that much he knew; after all, she had done it in the past, and if the situation was reversed, he would do the same for her.

"Tash, I really need to talk to you about something, and the fallout will not be pretty, but it is the best shot I have of making it out of here after the trial. I know you hate the media intruding on our lives, but once I tell you what I'm going to tell you, I need you to understand that the media will try and worm things out of you, the kids and anyone related to me. I need you to be on your guard for that."

"I… don't understand."

"I know, but you will once I say what I'm about to say."

There was a moment of pause.

"Tash, I'm leaving my primary job, and outing myself as a member of the cooperation."

Stunned silence.

"The lawyer and I were talking through defences today, and this, along with a few other things, is the way I will have the best shot of getting out of here so I can be with you and the kids instead."

"What's the defence?"

"You've heard of Battered Women's Syndrome?"

"Of course I have, but, Scott, I feel the need to point out that you are neither battered, or a woman."

Scott shot her a quelling look. "That's beside the point. The point is that Battered Women's Syndrome has been classified as a form of PTSD. We can argue that everything the Hood put us through contributed to PTSD, and while that isn't a strong defence in itself, it still gets us places."

"Will it get you out with 100% certainty?"

Scott closed his eyes briefly and let out a sigh. "Nothing's a sure thing, but this is the best shot I've got, so I'm taking it."

There was a moment of sobering silence.

"You know that if you go through with this, you won't be able to go back," she pointed out quietly, knowing just how much Scott had invested himself into International Rescue.

"I know. It's okay; I'm ready for that. It's time for me to move on, anyway. I've been feeing that for a while, now."

"Are you sure? I'll stand by you; you know that, but I need to know that you know what you're setting yourself up for."

"I want to hold our little girl when she's having restless nights and won't settle down. I want to be there to give Luke a hug when he has nightmares. I want to be there to teach Nicky how to pitch the perfect curveball. I want to be able to hold Mel's hand on her first day at school. I'm absolutely positive about this."

The rest of their meeting continued in a similar fashion. Tash filled Scott in on life on the outside, and Scott listened with rapt attention, hating himself, hating circumstance for playing his life like a fiddle, allowing him to miss out on everything.

_It isn't fair,_ he thought bitterly, _being locked up for something I didn't do._

Time flew by, and suddenly a guard hovered between the couple.

"Time's up," the guard said gruffly. "I'm afraid you're going to have to go now, ma'am."

"I'll stop by when the next visiting hours are on," she promised Scott, placing her hand flush against the Plexiglass so he could place his hand against hers. He never did, and that cut her to the bone. She knew exactly what he was doing; distancing himself emotionally from the remnants of his old life, just so their parting didn't hurt as much.

Without acknowledging her comment, without saying goodbye, Scott allowed himself to be led away back to his cell, feeling completely and utterly gutted by knowing what he was missing out on.


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: ****The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety.**

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Nineteen

Lady Penelope sat on the sofa, legs curled up underneath her as she sipped her tea delicately. Manila folders were stacked haphazardly in piles on the coffee table in front of her, loose papers littered the floor, her Datapad lay idle on the other half of the sofa, and yet she had made little progress in helping clear Scott's name.

The revelation Scott had announced to the world nearly a fortnight ago – the one where he outed himself as a member of International Rescue – had hindered progress. The media hounded everyone who had had any contact with Scott, pressing them for information on International Rescue, and it was common knowledge that Scott Tracy and Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward had become acquaintances, and then friends, at Oxford. She was fair game to the press, just as much as the next person who knew Scott was. With reporters pushing for an exclusive, and her having a constant trail, it was nigh on impossible to continue her investigation as discreetly as possible. All she had discovered was that the security footage that showed Scott in the room had been doctored somehow, and much help that was; Brains hadn't been able to determine how it had been altered, and without that explanation, there wasn't enough reason to convince a judge to overturn the trial.

"There must be something I've missed," she muttered to herself, sifting through the material again. But she came up with nothing, which was no surprise. All her previous leads had led her down dead ends; people had nothing to say to her – or were too frightened to say anything to her – and her leads ran cold.

Or so she mistakenly thought.

Eleven months ago, Interpol had discovered International Rescue's arch nemesis hideout – a castle buried deep in the heart of the Malaysian jungle. As soon as Interpol had conducted their business there, Jeff had requested that Penny headed over there with the International Rescue Secret Agent in South East Asia and placed untraceable bugging devices to monitor the place, just in case. For months on end, Penelope had no reports of anything being amiss, but that was all about to change.

From where the Datapad lay, a shrill beeping sound emitted from the speaker.

Snapping to attention, Penny grabbed it, tapping away at the screen to find out what had set the alarms off.

She connected her way into the microscopic sized cameras, but she couldn't make out anything of interest, no people or animals – not even with the heat mode detector on. That wasn't to say that it was a false alarm; Penelope knew that all cameras could be exploited when one knew where the blind spot was. The amount of energy that was being generated and used, though, from what should have been an isolated area was unusual.

It was unusual enough to warrant further investigation.

"Parker," she called out, rising to her feet. "I will need you to pack a bag with the appropriate wear, while I contact Jeff and our secret agent in Malaysia."

The trail that had once been cold burned white hot again, and dead end or not, Penny was not about to let this lead go undiscovered.

If only she knew that she was walking straight into a trap.

* * *

><p>Solitary confinement was driving Scott round the bend. It was for his own protection, the jail staff had told him as they shoved him into isolation, to stop any other jail members from attacking him after he outed himself as a member of International Rescue. For the first week, it was great – he didn't have to worry about watching his back from the other prisoners, he didn't have to worry about being attacked – but now? Now it was driving him insane.<p>

He figured limited contact with human beings could do that to a person, and he had been in the hole for almost two weeks. John was the only person that had managed to visit him – his lawyer didn't count, since she had access to him at all hours – and even then, he had only visited once. Scott figured that the media pack was oppressive enough to hold his brother, wife and family hostage in their apartment, so that they wouldn't be accosted with questions they couldn't answer. Not that he was blaming them – after all, it was his decision to come clean, and they had to do what was best for them while he was stuck on the inside.

From outside his cell, he could hear the door to the other solitary cell open and close, and he heard the distinctive thud as a person collapse on the floor. There was silence, allowing Scott to go back to what he was thinking about before, but the silence didn't last for long. From the other side of the besser block wall, and through a gap in cement that had been chipped away, Scott could hear and see teeth chattering.

"You okay?" he asked, voice slightly hoarse from disuse. Not a wise move to do, but jail had not dehumanised him yet. Briefly, Scott wondered if half the people in here behaved like animals because they were caged up like animals, or whether they were caged up because they were untamed.

There was no response.

Scott merely shrugged and turned away, drifting back into his own thoughts. So much for company. Despite himself, he thought about life in an ideal world, one where he was at home with his family, where he belonged. He wondered how John was still going to his AA meetings, getting his life back on track – after all, almost a year since The Incident had passed. He wondered how Gordon and Alan were. He wondered if Virg's injuries from The Incident were giving him jip. Scott wondered if Nick, still his baby boy since the next child was a girl, had developed his walking skills. He wondered if Luke still had an obscure aversion to dairy products, even though he wasn't allergic to them. He wondered if Melissa was able to go to sleep without him reading a bedtime story to her. He wondered how Tash's pregnancy was progressing, whether their baby had kicked for the first time. Only four months had passed, and he felt like he had missed out on so much. He thought about names for their baby girl; something that started with 'K' would be nice, if only to keep with alphabetical theme that had become apparent with his three other kids.

The other person's voice interrupted the train of thought.

"You're the International Rescue guy, aren't you?"

Scott sighed, almost sorry that he had opened the lines of communication. This was not a line of conversation that he wanted to pursue.

"You're in here because they don't know what to do with you, right? Leave you out there, and you'll be beaten to a bloody pulp for information on your technology."

It did seem like an accurate summary of what had happened.

"For what it's worth, I don't think you're guilty. Kinda contradictory, don't you think, to save lives only to take them."

Scott scurried over to the crack in the cement, blue eyes meeting brown. Another human being in here too, then. "For what it's worth, thanks."

* * *

><p>The heat was oppressive, the vegetation thick, but Lady Penelope, Parker and the secret agent for the area had battled their way through the jungle to the entrance of the temple. The temple loomed over them, casting an impressive shadow on the ground.<p>

"Thank you for all your assistance," Penelope smiled graciously at the local. "It's very much appreciated."

"Are you sure that you do not require further assistance?"

"Yes, quite sure."

There was too much at stake for this investigation to go awry.

"Very well. I shall leave you at this juncture. Please do not hesitate to contact me if you require an extra hand." With that the agent started to head back out the way they entered.

Penelope eyed the stone monument from behind her designer sunglasses. "What horror lurks within?" she murmured.

Well, there was only one way to find out. Leading the way, with Parker a few steps behind her, she stepped into the stone monument. The sound of Penny's flats – she had learnt her lesson in trekking through jungle in appropriate footwear the hard way – reverberated through the building. Guarded blue eyes scanned the surroundings.

"Parker, has anything showed up on our scanners?"

"No, M'Lady," he replied. "No other life forms in this area.

Another step.

A mis-step.

The floor slipped out from under her feet. Penelope gasped as she plummeted downwards, out of sight, away from Parker, as the floor slid shut after she had fallen through the trap door. Her heart pounded against her ribcage, her breathing came raggedly as she free falled. Blond hair – there were some strands that were just too short to have been tied up – flew into her eyes.

Then she stopped falling. Her body slammed into the concrete floor. Penny could feel her shoulder dislocate as it hit the floor with considerable force. Her leg stuck out at an awkward angle – definitely extended past 180 degrees – and caused her excruciating pain. It was impossible for her to stand on her own two feet. Penny knew that as well as she knew her own name.

"How nice of you to drop in," a sinister voice crooned from the shadows. Penelope raised her head as high as she could, twisting towards the noise source. More pain, blinding her, but she would push through it to get the answers she wanted.

Two dark eyes observed Penelope, glittering in the dim light, hard like obsidian before stepping out of the shadows. A cold leer towards her, mocking her, mocking the situation she was in. Penelope refused to be intimidated by it.

"You, my dear," the shadow droned as it moved towards Penelope, towering over her as she lay on the ground, "are meddling in matters that ought not to be meddled with."

Penelope glared back. "How so?"

The shadow – Penny could now tell that it was a male – leaned down over her and strapped an electronic device to her torso. Penelope spared a glance at it.

_A primary timer and detonator, with a fool proof backup in place. Activated, not dormant, with the countdown of three minutes already started. No way of disarming it. Not good. Not good at all. _

"All this investigating? Oh, yes, I know what you're doing – I have my own bugs in the system to keep me apprised of things. All this investigating will lead you closer and closer to the truth, and I can't have that. I can't have you destroy the falsehoods that I've worked so hard to form. I can't have you uncover all the manipulation I've done with evidence so that I could frame that dark haired devil spawn."

"Why?" Penelope ground out the one word as pain hit her like a sledgehammer. Each nerve ending was on fire and there wasn't a damn thing she could do to alleviate her suffering. If only Parker was here. He would have known what to do.

The man ignored the question.

"I demand a response!"

Silence.

The man squatted down beside her, ran a calloused hand across her cheek. Penelope flinched at the contact, but she was in no condition to move away.

"You are in no position to demand anything of me," the man said, smirking slightly. His eyes travelled down to the timer. Less than two minutes left. "But since you and I both know you won't be getting out of here alive –"

Penelope opened her mouth to call for Parker, but her killer, still unknown to her, cut her off.

"Don't bother calling for Parker; he's already been incinerated by my laser weaponry system." There was blunt honesty behind the words. The truth had been spoken, she realised. "Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust."

That came as a blow to Penelope. Parker gone, just like that. Just like she would be going too. No point in trying to deny that.

"Let me tell you how it happened. Funny, I always thought that the dying person had to confess instead."

Penelope growled pitifully. All she wanted was a name. Her murderer had to have the decency to tell her that, at the very least.

"My name is not important to you at this time, but I killed Belah Gaat. I killed my master in a way that is virtually undetectable. I will kill you without a second thought, without remorse, and _I_ am the person that brought International Rescue to its demise."

_Coward,_ Penelope thought. _Won't even let me know who's strapped a bomb to me._

Another glance at the timer. Time for him to jet away because he didn't want to be caught in the blast. Without another word, the man turned around and high tailed it out of the temple.

Her compact powder was in her pocket and Penelope knew that there was no feasible way to contact Jeff or any other member of International Rescue for help. Couldn't even mover her arms to swallow her emergency edible beacon. Besides, what good would it do? She had no name for them to follow up on, and as fast as the Thunderbirds could fly, even they couldn't reach Malaysia within a minute. There would be no one there for her in her final moments.

As morbid as it was, Penelope had often wondered how she would have gone out of this life, but she had never thought it would have been like this, humiliated and broken beyond repair. Still, all she could do now was make peace with it. What was done, was done.

As she closed her eyes, preparing for the inevitable, she sincerely hoped that her death would not have been in vain; if Scott was cleared of all charges, then her demise was worth it.

It started with a slight vibration. Then the fireworks began, lights and noises competing against each other. The smell of smoke, of accelerant burning filled the temple. Penelope's legs were forced in one direction after the initial explosion, separating them from her torso. Her arms were splayed out in another. Her head propelled backwards into the solid floor.

And that was the last thing she knew before she knew no more.


	20. Chapter 20

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: Wow, it's been a while, but no, I haven't forgotten about this. Just a couple of other things cropped up, and everything got thrown to the wind after life went off track for a bit. Anyway, thank you to everyone that's been reading and reviewing. And to those that are wondering when I'm going to rescue Scott from jail... well, I have no plans to break him out yet, but his brothers might hijack the plot (as they so often do) and write it the way they want it. Pesky, stubborn Tracy boys that want everything their way :P**

**The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety. **

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Twenty

"Grammy?"

From where she was scrubbing away at the cook top as part of her nightly kitchen clean routine, Josie Tracy swivelled around to stare at her eldest great-grandchild. "Yes, Melissa?"

"When can I see Daddy?"

Josie chewed on her lip. She could understand Scott's reasoning in not wanting his kids in such a rough environment, or seeing Daddy in jail, but she also knew that his sudden disappearance from their life was having a negative impact on them.

"Have you asked Mommy when you can see Daddy?" Josie tried to deflect the question as she wrapped up Melissa in one of her patented 'Grammy' hugs.

The nearly five year old shook her head, worrying her bottom lip. "Mommy gets sad and I don't want her sad."

In that instant, a long buried memory resurfaced in Josie's mind. Scott must have been about fourteen, just arrived in Kansas after his overdose, and he was stretched out like a plank on the sofa. The intervention, a few years too late, and aimed at the wrong person, Josie remembered thinking, as she sat down opposite him, determined to find out what had been the catalyst to take Scott so far up the wrong path in life.

"Dad gets upset if we mention Mom," Scott had eventually offered up to his grandmother, the only useful piece of information he was willing to divulge at that time. "I don't like upsetting Dad."

The little girl was most definitely Scott's daughter; there was no doubt about that.

"Well, let's go ask her." Josie held onto Melissa's hand and led her out into the family room.

From where he was sitting, John looked up from his book as the duo walked in. "Everything okay, Grams?"

Josie opened her mouth to answer that everything was fine, but Mel beat her to it.

"Uncle Johnny, when will you take me to see Daddy?"

Setting his book aside and lifting his favourite niece (but that was because she was his only niece) onto his lap, John tried to explain the situation in a child friendly way.

"Mel, sweetie, not for a while. Daddy is in a place where children shouldn't be. Until Daddy can get out of that place, he won't be able to see you."

His niece pouted, almost like Alan would, and John relented. It was possible to refuse Alan anything when he pouted, especially since he was supposed to be a grown man, but when it was his only niece, it was impossible.

"Mel, I'm going to go see your Daddy tomorrow, if I can. Even your Uncle John has problems getting in to see Daddy."

"But they _have_ to let me and Luke see Daddy. We're his favourites. Nick can be left at home with Mommy."

Now John was feeling out of his depth. He really didn't know how to proceed from this point, so he decided to use a tactic he had seen his father use on his mother eons ago. Whenever John had asked Jeff a question the father didn't want to answer, he would reply with _ask your mother. _In the background, Lucille had rolled her eyes at the way Jeff deflected the question, and responded with _ask your father._

Grasping Mel's hand tightly, John led her to Scott and Tash's room. "Let's go ask Mommy when you can see Daddy, okay?"

A soft knock on the wooden door. "Tash, Melissa has something she wants to ask you."

Hand on her bump, Tash knelt down by Melissa, pulling her close. "What is it, sweetie?"

Even at almost five years old, Mel had an uncanny ability to accurately read people's facial expression and determine their mood from it. Blue eyes scrutinised Mommy's face; there were tight lines around the corners of her mouth, a tinged sorrow in green eyes. There was no way Mel was going to add to Mommy's suffering, so she shook her head.

Tash's eyes travelled up to John, but she couldn't decipher an answer from him.

"Mel?"

The little girl shook her head again, adamant not to let anything slip.

"Well, then, isn't it time you were in bed? Get your jammies on, brush your teeth. I'll be there to tuck you in soon."

"Okay, Mommy." Mel made to leave the room, but not before hugging Tash tightly.

"It was about me taking them to see Scott, wasn't it?" Tash sighed, moving towards the sofa before collapsing heavily onto the cushions. More of a statement than a question, so John saw no need to respond to it.

"Well, you know what? I don't care what my husband says; I'm taking them in next time I can visit him. Those kids need their Dad, and no matter how much Scott tries to deny it, he needs them too." Unconsciously, she rubbed her stomach as the baby kicked at her at the mention of Scott's name. This kid was shaping up to be a Daddy's Girl, and with the exception of conception, Scott had no contact with her. Hadn't even felt her kick yet, and that was something that Tash knew would bug the hell out of him.

"D'you want me to take Nick for the day, then?" John offered tentatively, knowing that having three kids would be hard to manage in such a strictly regulated environment. It also meant that his trip would have to wait, but he didn't mind in the slightest. John knew Scott well enough to know that he would appreciate a visit from his wife, kids and unborn baby more than a visit from his brother. "We'll head to the park, play on the swings, and feed the ducks. It'll be fun for us."

A tired nod. "I'll take Nick in separately. Nick's too young to remember this, so it's more for Scott anyway."

In the background, they could hear Melissa calling for Tash.

"I should go to her," Tash muttered, pushing herself off the sofa, feeling far more exhausted, stressed out and worried than the average 28 year old. It was something that everyone around her had picked up on.

Remembering that he had promised Scott that he would look after his wife and kids, John gently pushed her back down. "I'll go."

"But I promised Mel –"

"I'll go," John reiterated firmly. "I think Mel will understand why I'm there instead of you. Now, you, on the other hand, go get some sleep. Scott made me promise to take care of you if something happened to him, so don't break that promise for me."

"Alright, alright, you've guilted me into going. I'll see you in the morning."

A brief pause as brother and sister in law went in their respective direction.

"John?"

"Yes?"

"After Scott was arrested, I know I blamed you unfairly for that, and I just wanted to say something I should have said four months ago. John, I'm sorry for everything I said then. It wasn't right, or fair, for me to act the way I did."

John nodded with a tight smile. An apology was better late than never, he knew.

"Johnny? I'm proud of how far you've recovered since you've come here, and I know Scotty would be proud of you too."

With that, they headed off in their separate directions, ready to call it a night.

* * *

><p>The news had hit them like a tonne of bricks. Penny and Parker gone, just like that. Jeff had known that none of his operatives were infallible, but he hadn't expected Penny and Parker to be the first ones to go.<p>

It made him wonder if International Rescue was really worth it. What cost was too high? Where would he draw the line, say enough was enough, and keep his operatives and agents safe from potential loss of life?

He looped the chunky end of his tie around the narrow end and pulled it through, pushing the knot high up against the base of his throat. The black tie, coupled with his black suit, was something he had worn all too often of late.

The boys had flown out to Malaysia when the local agent reported that Penny and Parker had gone missing for more than 48 hours. They had scoured the jungle looking for anything that they could bring back, any conclusive proof that Penny and Parker were still alive instead of being presumed dead, but there had been nothing. Penny's body had been blown to smithereens – they hadn't been able to completely reconstruct her body since the extent of the explosion had propelled various appendages across a square mile, not to mention the fact that feral animals had taken the chance to devour fresh meat that was there for the taking – and all that remained of Parker was a small pile of ashes, blown around in the wind. Not even enough left of them for a proper burial – just empty coffins since they had no bodies. Two empty coffins, which was all that was left of two of the best agents he had been privileged to work with because a son of his had been unfairly incarcerated. International Rescue wasn't worth this. Nothing was.

Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward's funeral, last will and testate reading, however, was today - a week and a half after her death, and as her employer, confidant and friend, Jeff was obligated to be there.

A soft knock on the door, and Virgil popped his head around the frame. "Dad? Are you okay?"

"Hmm?" Jeff shook his head distractedly, buttoning up the cuffs on his shirt. "Yes. Well, as fine as I can be."

"Well, Al and I are ready to go when you are. John's on the phone to Gordon right now, making sure that his and Scott's condolences get passed along too."

"John's not joining us?"

"Nope. He's been roped into babysitting Nick since Tash's taking the kids to see Scott today and Grams isn't feeling 100%."

Grey eyes pierced the third son.

"Scott knows about this? How'd he take the news?"

Jeff knew his son well enough to know that Scott would be beating himself up on the inside, linking Penny and Parker's death to the investigation they were conducting to clear his name. Like he had done with the death of his mother, Scott would own responsibility for events he had little to no control over.

"Scott doesn't exactly know about Penny and Parker. John, Tash and I don't think he should find out just yet. From what John and Tash have mentioned to me, Scott's still in there, fighting for freedom. If we tell him about this, he'll blame himself; lose the will to fight and change his plea to guilty, just to keep the rest of us safe since the investigation on the prosecution and defence side will grind to a halt. I know I speak for all five of us when I say that I'd much rather keep this from him and get him back with us after his trial than have to visit him in state penitentiary."

Jeff did have to agree that visits to prison to see his seemingly innocent son was not a prospect that filled him with much joy.

"He can pay his respects when he's out of that hell hole," Jeff agreed. "I'll make sure John and Scott's condolences get passed on to the right people."

There was hesitation on Virgil's part.

"I don't want to do this, Dad."

"I know, son. We've said goodbye to too many good people. But we have to. We owe it to them. They gave their lives to save one of ours. It's the least we can do."

With that, Jeff slung and arm around his son's shoulder and led them both to the plane Alan and Virgil would fly to the funeral.

* * *

><p>Company in solitary confinement turned out to be a good thing for Scott; it stopped him from going round the bend. Having said that, so were visitors from the outside world, but that was now a limited occurrence since he was in protective custody. Adrian, or Adrienne, as he preferred to be called, was seemingly harmless compared to previous people Scott had been acquainted with. In one of their many conversations through the cinder block wall, Scott had discovered that Adrienne was imprisoned because of drugs, and placed in solitary because (to quote Adrienne), "the boys beat me up and the girls don't want me because I ain't got the right plumbing system yet." In their many conversations through the cinder block wall, Scott found himself unwittingly imparting information about his family to Adrienne. The only thing that grated on him was the visits, or lack thereof. His family had visited him too often, but not enough.<p>

It came as a pleasant surprise when the guard barked that he had a visitor and had to be escorted up to one of the non-contact meeting rooms. Okay, fine, so Scott didn't like the fact that his ankles and hands were chained together, and linked to a belt that was around his waist, and he despised the fact that he had to shuffle because of aforementioned chains, but he would put up with it to get to his visitor.

Not at all surprised to see his wife there, Scott sat down heavily on the chair that had been pulled out for him. A little surprised to see his two eldest children there, but he should have known that they would managed to sweet-talk at least one grown up into taking them; Mel and Luke were about as stubborn and pig-headed as their parents were. The only difference between the parents and the kids was that the kids just had to flutter their eyelashes and smile charmingly to wrap an uncle or parent (when one was in a good mood) around their little finger.

"Daddy!" Mel and Luke yelled out simultaneously, banging on the glass. They seemed oblivious to how gaunt he was. The bruises and swelling from the assaults Scott had endured before he was placed in solitary had long since faded, but he still did not look as healthy as a 30 year old man should.

Somewhere, from some deep reserve within him, Scott managed to dredge up a smile. "Hey, kiddos," he murmured, not wanting to look at them, not wanting them to see him in this state, but completely unable to tear his gaze off them. "You guys been good for Mommy?"

"Yes," Luke said, nodding his head.

A flick of blue eyes over to their mother.

"Yes," she confirmed. "They've been very good under the circumstances. Nick was a bit unsettled in the beginning, and Luke acted out a few times, but once he and I had a very long talk, he settled back down again. Didn't you, you little monster?"

"Mommy let me feel the baby kick, and I got to name it," Melissa boasted proudly to her Daddy. A flash of pain through his muted blue eyes, but it was gone before anyone but Tash picked up on it. It was hard for him to hear about his latest addition like this, without being able to interact with the baby, of that much she was sure.

"Oh you did, did you? And what are we going to call your baby sister?"

"Ginger Snap!"

"You've been watching too much Strawberry Shortcake," Scott joked, although he was inwardly adamant that they wouldn't name their baby after food. Even Dora the Explorer seemed a more preferable name than Ginger Snap.

"Daddy, when will you come home? I miss you."

It was a seemingly innocent question, but it tore away at Scott's insides. He missed his kids as much as they missed him, if not more, and that would never change, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

"I don't know, Luke, but Daddy misses you too."

It was the perfect segue to his next piece of news. After exchanging pleasantries with Tash, he launched straight into the heart of the matter.

"My trial date's been set," he said without preamble.

Green eyes pierced blue. Blue eyes met the gaze, unwavering.

"Three months from today."

A sigh of relief from the red haired woman. At least there was an ending in sight, a timeline to work toward to get Scott back at home with them. She wouldn't even consider the possibility of Scott being found guilty. Not at all.

"You ready for it, Scott?"

A half-hearted shrug. Nerves were coming to rise to the surface, even though Tash knew that Scott was trying to hide it, especially in front of his daughter and son.

"Scott, everything's going to be fine. You're going to get out of here, you're going to be with us, we're going to get through this together."

"I guess." He still didn't sound convinced.

There was something troubling Scott – Tash had been married to him long enough to know that when he fell silent and brooded for a while, there was something serious playing on his mind – but she also knew that the more she pushed the point, the less likely he was to open up. She would just have to let Scott play it out at his own rate; she just hoped it would be soon, since visiting time slots were only twenty minutes long, and they only had five minutes left.

"You spend a lot of time thinking in here," Scott said suddenly, albeit quietly so that only his wife could hear him, eyes trained down at his hands. "Tend to keep revisiting that day."

The feeling of trepidation mounted between them. Both were unsure of what was coming next; Scott wasn't sure if he should divulge the information he was about to impart, and Tash didn't know if she was ready to hear it, at least, not in a place where the walls had eyes and ears.

"I didn't kill the Hood," Scott confessed, telling her something she had known all along, blue eyes raised at her, cold and unwavering. "But late at night, when I can't sleep and I'm thinking about everything that's happened, there are times when I wish I had."


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: At last! It's out! For anyone that's still reading this, apologies for the long wait. I had uni exams and teaching pracs from October to November, which meant a lot of ff. net stuff got placed on a back burner while I prepared for that. Anyway, it's up now, so enjoy.**

**The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety. **

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter 21

How she made it home, she would never know, but she had not been able to stop herself from shaking after hearing Scott's confession. Oh, God, what if she was subpoenaed and had to reveal what Scott had said? She wasn't sure that she could categorically state what Scott had mentioned before with no ill effects – instead, his adamant statement of not killing the Hood would work in his favour, but the words that followed it… that worried her. That negated the actions he had not carried out.

"Tash?"

The voice from the door sounded distant, even though there was less than five feet between where John was standing and where she was standing. She ignored him, raking through her cupboard to find a jumper to wear to stop her from shaking.

"What happened?"

Tash didn't know what to do, but she couldn't even tell John; the less people that knew, the better. There was only one person who could offer her advice on what to do.

"John, get the lawyer on the phone. I need to talk to her."

There was something in his sister-in-law's voice that made him comply. Dialling the number and handing her the handset, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Whatever's happened, you know we'll get through it as a family. Okay?"

Tash nodded, even though she wasn't sure if they could get through this. "John? Keep the kids out of here, please? I don't want them listening in on this."

"I'll take them for ice-cream, okay?"

"Sounds good. Thanks."

Within minutes, she heard her two eldest kids chattering to Uncle Johnny as the front door slammed behind them, and she breathed out slightly. At least there was no chance of them overhearing this, and her youngest was napping in his cot, so he wouldn't hear it either. Still trembling as the ringing tone played through the phone, Tash lowered herself to perch on the edge of the bed.

"Ms. Julian? I need to talk to you. Scott said something to me today, and if anyone needs to know about it, it's you."

"Okay, what did Scott say to you?"

The voice on the other end of the phone call was calming and reassuring, which was the only thing calming Tash down.

"He told me…" Tash trailed off, unsure. Doubt crawled back in; what if telling Christine Julian what he said was actually going to make it worse?

"What did he say? It could be the difference between him being sentenced and him walking free."

"He told me that even though he didn't kill the Hood, there were times when he wished he had."

Silence from the other end of the phone. This did not bode well, she felt.

"Apart from me, have you told anyone else this?" Julian eventually asked.

"No. It didn't seem like something to spread around."

"Good. Keep it that way."

Finally, Tash plucked up the courage to voice the thought that had been plaguing her since she heard Scott's words. "What if they ask me to testify? I don't want to divulge what he said."

"You won't have to; you'll be covered by spousal privilege," Julian informed her. "Since the two of you are married, you don't have to reveal anything he said to you over the period you've been married."

Sagging into the mattress in relief, Tash let out the breath she didn't know she was holding. No one was going to find out what Scott said; it would be their secret, and she would take it to her grave.

The pair continued to talk for a bit, with the lawyer walking Tash through the steps that would take place as Scott's trial date crept closer. Julian knew that this, of all the things she could have done, would have reassured her client's wife more than anything else. Sometimes not knowing what to expect made everything infinitely worse than it really was. Eventually, the conversation drew to a close, and with a promise to keep Tash updated with every step, the lawyer disconnected. Placing the phone back in the docking bay, Tash headed back to the room, making a detour to pick up Nick, as he had woken up from his nap and was grizzling.

"Yeah, you miss Daddy and you want to be in his arms, not mine," she muttered, bouncing him in her arms in a futile attempt to comfort him. "Believe me, I want him here just as much as you do. Three months, baby boy, and Daddy'll be back home, back with us, and he'll be able to lavish his undivided attention on you."

She didn't think about what would happen if Scott didn't make it back with them. She couldn't; Scott was close to resigning himself to life behind bars, so she had to be strong enough for both of them.

Unknown to them, they were being observed from the doorway of the room. Josie Tracy leaned against the door-frame, twin emotions tugging at her; pride in her granddaughter-in-law for her unwavering belief in Scott's innocence in the crime he was accused of committing, and worry for them all, for if Scott was found guilty of the charge, Josie was absolutely sure that all aspects of the Tracy family would fall apart.

* * *

><p>Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward was clearly a much loved member of the British aristocracy. That much was apparent with the turn out to the funeral. Almost all of the available International Rescue secret agents had turned up to pay their respects to their fallen comrade. There were too many people for such a sombre event, Jeff felt, as he stood near a window, staring into nothing as he swirled some whiskey around in the bottom of a tumbler.<p>

Jeff could remember his first encounter with the young aristocrat, all those years ago. It had been on a trip to Oxford to surprise his eldest son for his 21st birthday that Jeff first encountered Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward. And surprised Scott was, for what should have been a night filled with booze, gambling and general debauchery without paternal or parental interference had morphed into a semi-civilised meal since the old man was in town – something that made Jeff chuckle. Of course, a more civilised dinner with Jefferson Tracy in tow had narrowed down Scott's guest list to those that already moved in or were familiar with high society. The meal, Jeff remembered, was a pleasant one; Scott had sat on his right hand side, and Penny had sat on the other, with mutual friends and acquaintances filling in the gaps at the round table. They had spent the evening talking to each other, and by the end of dessert, Jeff had been most intrigued by her. She was young, he would admit to that much, but based on the information he had gleaned from her, she craved more out of life than the high society duties that she had grown up with. She wanted to do something meaningful, yet not take credit for it; she wanted to be a mysterious stranger that could help the world in times of trouble. International Rescue, still a pigment of his imagination at the time, could have used a woman like that in some capacity. The seed had been sown and he stored it away in the back of his mind, until he was ready to approach her with his job prospectus. The rest, as they say, was history, and the day that Lady Penelope agreed to be International Rescue's London agent was a memorable day for all of them; Penny had gotten them out of more tight scrapes than Jeff could remember.

"Dad." Virgil placed his hand on Jeff's shoulder, looking as miserable and weary as the oldest Tracy felt. "Penelope left this for you."

Numbly, Jeff accepted the mini-disc that was pressed into his hands.

"You should probably find somewhere to watch it, Dad," Virgil continued. "It was in a note she left for me and that was something she wanted you to do; to watch it as soon as I gave it to you."

"Right. Well," Jeff cleared his throat, glancing at the throng of people. It was so crowded that no one would miss him if he disappeared for half an hour or so. "I guess I'd better follow through with Penny's last wishes."

Sidling his way out of the room, Jeff trudged up the stairs and headed to one of the many guestrooms in Penny's – no, not Penny's anymore, now it belonged to the International Rescue agent that would take her place; Penny was quite clear on that in her will – and closed the door behind him, sliding dead bolts into place. Sinking into the spring mattress of the bed, Jeff inserted the disc into the player.

The last video message, Jeff knew instantly. Whenever a new operative joined their ranks, it was a requirement that they created one of these, just in case. It was a morbid one, but an important requirement; it would help explain all the lies and sneaking around an agent had to do when they were alive to their nearest and dearest. Parker had been listed as her next-of-kin, but since Parker had gone too, Jeff felt that there should have been someone there who had been close to her to see Penny's last words and wishes. As the mini-disc began to play on screen, Jeff pressed a button to pause it. It was only right that Virgil, Gordon and Alan saw this too; after all, Penny had saved their skin more times than he cared to remember. A few buttons were pressed on his watch, sending a message that called the boys back to his location.

With his sons settled around him, Jeff let the video message begin. It was a slight shock to see Penelope's face on screen with the knowledge that they would never see it again, but the Tracy clan steeled themselves to watch the video message right to the end.

It began with Penelope thanking Parker and her household staff for years of loyal service, with each member of staff receiving a mention. Jeff made a mental note to pass on the message to her staff. Then, in a move that surprised Jeff and the other Tracy boys, she then went on to address every single member of the Tracy family.

To Alan and Gordon, she expressed her love of the practical jokes they had played on various family members over the years that she had known them prior to the inception of International Rescue. She admired their vivaciousness and implored them to not let her death hamper such an important part of their personalities.

To Virgil, she commended him on his talents, thanking him for his generous offers to play the piano at the charitable galas she hosted every other month. Not many people would have taken the time out to do that pro-bono.

To John and Scott, she advised them to loosen up once in a while, otherwise they would have had cardiac failure by the time they hit their thirties. Sometimes things in life didn't go quite as planned, but there was no point in tying themselves up in knots about it; they were better off just rolling with the punches at times.

To Jeff, she simply asked him not to blame himself for her demise.

"I know what I'm signing up for," Penny's recorded voice streamed through the speakers. "I know what it may cost me, and to be quite honest, I've made my peace with it. After all, a wise young man – one of your sons, incidentally – once told me that there were two things worse than death; living without reason, and dying without honour. If I should die during my time as an International Rescue agent, you must know that neither scenario applies. This is a worthy cause, one that I am proud to be associated with."

That almost broke Jeff, having to listen to Penny play down her sacrifice to keep an organisation that was in a state of limbo alive.

"One more thing, Jeff. International Rescue continues to operate. Don't let the boys, or yourself, give up on it. There needs to be a source of humanity and unadulterated goodness in the world."

With that, the disc cut off, leaving four very stunned Tracys sinking into the mattress they were sitting on. After what seemed like an eternity, Jeff rose to his feet and stared at his sons, taking stock of all the boys that were present. A perceptive nod from Gordon.

"I think, boys," he said, so quietly that they had to strain their ears to hear it. "I think it's time we brought International Rescue back online."


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety. **

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Twenty-Two

Jeff Tracy was many things; father of five, philanthropist, billionaire, astronaut and all around American hero.

He was also a coward.

For nearly six months, Jeff Tracy had avoided this place as though it had the plague. Whenever he had had a spare weekend, he had intended to visit this place, but he had always talked himself out of it at the last moment, and he had no idea why.

Oh, wait, yes he did, and the reason was being lead through the door right now. His eldest son, his little boy – and that was what Scott was to him, even though Scott had fathered four children of his own – shuffled morosely to the seat that was located behind the Perspex barrier that separated them. Hands cuffed behind is back, blue eyes dulled, two days' worth of stubble decorating his face and way too thin since the last time he had seen Scott, it cut Jeff right to the bone. Unable to look at Scott in such a state anymore, Jeff trained his eyes down on the pinstripes of his pants.

"You're the last person I was expecting to see," Scott sniped, tilting his head to the left. After all, all of his brothers and sister-in-laws had managed to visit him at least once since he had been incarcerated, but his father had never set foot in the county jail.

"Surprise?" Jeff offered, guilt consuming him as he knew what Scott was hinting at.

A half-hearted shrug from Scott. He was past the point of caring who came to see him and who didn't. Wearily, the younger man sighed, leaned his forehead against the plastic, eyes narrowed down to slits. The last time Scott had spoken to his father had been to inform him that he had been arrested. The question Scott had asked, whether Jeff believed Scott's innocence, flitted between them, and Scott could remember the hesitation in his father's tone when he unconvincingly replied.

Reacting to the slight thud Scott's head made against the Perspex, Jeff glanced up. Once, when Scott had been younger – eleven, maybe twelve, Jeff couldn't quite remember exactly – he had sent him boys on a summer camp for two weeks so he could get some important work done without having to worry about them too much. Out in North Carolina, it was far away from their Floridian home so that the boys would feel like they were on an adventure, but close enough for Jeff to fly over and pick them up if something went wrong, and it boasted all sorts of activities that would appeal to all his sons; there was water-skiing across a lake for Gordon, go-kart racing for Alan, astronomy and hiking through a forest for John, art and music for Virgil and various high ropes and assault courses to keep Scott happy.

The boys kept in contact with Jeff and all seemed well with them for the first week and a half. Then, out of the blue, Scott had called him, all worked up into a frenzy, saying little more than he wanted to go back home. It had taken Jeff the better part of an hour to calm his usually unflappable son down and wheedle the story out of him. Turned out that the camp group Scott was in had opted to go caving, and since the avalanche Scott had never been too fond of places that were cold, dark and damp. It had been a disaster for Scott, reminding him about the time he was trapped under the snow with his dying mother. Jeff wanted nothing more than to wrap Scott up in a hug that made everything right in his son's world again, but as he looked down at his schedule, Jeff knew that it was impossible. He had to close three deals over two days to ensure that his family were financially stable for the next few months. Instead, Jeff had convinced Scott to tough out the remaining three days, and that he would be there to pick all of the boys up once camp was over.

When Jeff had collected the boys from camp, he had noted that they had changed ever so slightly – some grown taller and some had a little more muscle on them. But with Scott, the biggest change was in his eyes – a light that used to be present had burned to ash; there was no more warmth in them at all. When Scott stared his father, it was with the cool understanding that Jeff was no longer an ally, or someone Scott could trust.

Now, Scott was staring at Jeff the same way. Even though Jeff focused on anything in the room except his son, he could still feel Scott's ice-cold gaze slicing its way through him.

"I'm sorry," Jeff suddenly said. "That time from camp. I'm sorry I didn't come and pick you up straight away."

Stunned silence.

"I got over that eighteen years ago," Scott replied coldly.

"I know. But I'm still sorry. I'm sorry for a lot of things, a lot of mistakes I made with you."

"It doesn't change anything."

"It does to me, Scott."

Scott groaned, suppressing the anger and rage he was feeling. All this beating around the bush, delving into a past he didn't want to remember was getting them nowhere. "Why are you here? After all this time, why did you bother coming?"

"I wanted to see you." Jeff realised the irony of what he was saying, considering that he had only spared his son a cursory glance.

"Then look at me!" Scott roared, slamming his hand against the plastic sheeting. "Why can't you even look at me?!"

If there was ever a moment not to choke, this was it, but Jeff could not move. His mind raced through every memory of Scott, right from when he was born to now, flurried through everything he wanted to say but had never found the words to say it with. By the time Jeff had formulated an answer in his mind, it was too late.

"You know what?" Scott gestured to the guard as he stood up abruptly and turned his back on his father. "I don't know why you even tried. We're done here."

* * *

><p>It felt good to be back in Thunderbird Two's seat, even if it was just a simulator seat, Virgil thought as he grasped the steering column. During their hiatus, Tin-Tin had worked tirelessly on upgrading the software and hardware to all the International Rescue craft since Brains had been busy pouring over evidence to see if there was anything that could help secure Scott's freedom. The upgrade, however, was unusual in the sense that a whole new user interface had been installed and it was so different to their previous system that all the boys required extensive training through simulations before they could take to their craft again.<p>

"Tin-Tin, can you run the simulation again? I wasn't too happy about crashing into a rocky ledge and setting Two on fire."

Tin-Tin nodded as she reset the program. "Remember, Virgil, you have to calibrate the sensors before approaching the cliff side. It takes a fraction of a nanosecond and the autopilot can then hold Two steady while you operate the rescue grabs."

Virgil acknowledged Tin-Tin's advice, biting back the growl that threatened to pass his lips. There was a true art to flying Thunderbird Two, and he felt that it was being lost with the automisation and computerisation of the systems. Not that he would ever complain about it; Virgil was also aware that computerising most of Two's brain would reduce the risk of him stuffing up through human error. At the very least, Tin-Tin had allowed for a loophole, allowing him to override Two's commands if he felt that they were not the right ones to make. He was still in control in that respect.

"Last run, Virgil. We'll come back at this tomorrow. In the meantime," Tin-Tin had entered the simulation pod and dumped a huge binder down on the seat next to him. "You can read through the instructions that help control your toy before you play with her again."

Virgil pulled a face that clearly screamed _you cannot be serious_ at Tin-Tin.

"Hey, you need to pass the re-certification test before you can fly Two again, and this will help you do that."

"Fine," Virgil huffed, conceding defeat, focussing back on the trickiest part of the simulation. Remembering Tin-Tin's hint, he calibrated the sensors on Two and held his breath, hoping that Two did not drift with tailwinds into the cliff. If he could successfully complete this simulation, he would be one step further in being able to sit in Two's Captain chair on a real rescue. Right now, the only two people that were qualified to operate Thunderbird Two were Tin-Tin and Gordon, who had somehow sailed through the simulations and the re-certification test. Virgil had tried it before, and had failed his test, although he was not too surprised with the result; he had been distracted with Scott's incarceration and Parker and Penelope's unexpected demise.

"Well done, Virgil!" Tin-Tin cried as Virgil successfully completed the simulation. "I think you'll pass this time around."

"I hope so," Virgil smiled back. "It wouldn't do for Thunderbird Two to not have her pilot."

With the simulation closed and the binder tucked under his arm, Virgil led Tin-Tin back to the lounge and settled back into the sofa. His thoughts wandered back to International Rescue, and he wondered if they would be up and running by the time they received their first callout since they had closed down. Things had changed; Thunderbird One had been repaired since Alan's mishap, and upgraded so that it was better than new. A pang hit Virgil's stomach as he realised Scott wouldn't be there to see what had become of his craft. Even if a jury found Scott innocent, he would not be able to rejoin International Rescue, not since he broke his silence and outed himself as a member of the clandestine operation. Not that Virgil could blame him; if he was in Scott's place and revealing his primary job could help keep him from being found guilty of a crime he didn't commit, he probably would have done the same thing. All in all, even though things were the same, Virgil was acutely aware of the fact that things had changed.

As he sat on the sofa, staring at the International Rescue portraits he had painted since IR's inception, Virgil wondered if International Rescue could withstand the changes, or whether all the changes signalled the beginning of the end of it all.


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: ****The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety.**

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Twenty Three

From the bedside table, the alarm clock blared into action, an intrusion into his sleep. It was a family joke that he could sleep through anything, even nuclear warfare, but that was incorrect. The only thing that Virgil could not sleep through was _The Lion King_ soundtrack. His hand darted out from under the cover and he prodded the many buttons on the clock until he had silenced it, rolled over and went back to sleep. It was a futile thing to do, as his wife poked him in the back with a sharp nail.

"Virgil, wake up."

Virgil groaned and shifted, burrowing his head under the pillows. To be fair, he had just piloted a plane to get them to San Francisco overnight; he felt he was entitled to catch up on the sleep he had lost.

"Virgil!"

The chestnut haired man flung the pillow away from him and beadily stared at the woman lying beside him. "Why must you punish me this way, Gus?"

"You set the alarm so that you won't be late to see your brother. Now, make good on it."

With the decision to restart International Rescue, Jeff had promised his three other sons that they could have rotational trips – no more than two at a time – in San Francisco to drop in on Scott. After all, in their line of work, they never knew when they'd be able to get leave to see him again. John, now that he was back on track, and more like his old self, had been invited back into the fold, and he would be leaving with his father and other brothers, although he would be returning on the weekends to keep attending his support groups and grief management classes. That was something John insisted on, and Jeff saw no reason to deny him that; his second oldest son had come extremely far in a short space of time, and Jeff was loathe to stop a good thing in its tracks. Scott had been slightly unhappy to learn of John's reinstatement – after all, John had promised that he would look after his brother's kids and wife – but he seemed to come to grips with it when he learnt that his grandmother would be there with them instead.

International Rescue had been up and running for a month and a half since their hiatus, and the boys and Tin-Tin had alternated between being rushed off their feet with rescues and completely idle. Virgil wasn't about to sacrifice these trips for anything, not even International Rescue, but he breathed a bit easier knowing that everything was calm in the world.

Rolling – well, it was more like collapsing, his muscles were cramped and tense – out of bed, Virgil picked himself up off the floor and padded off to the bathroom for a shower and shave. Glancing at the clock on the wall, Virgil figured that there was enough time for him to gulp down some coffee and munch on some toast before they left to go to the county jail. He was keeping to the time-plan he had drawn up for himself, and as long as there were no distractions, he would be able to stick to it.

Virgil had forgotten to account for his niece and nephew's ability to cling onto his legs like barnacles and prevent him from moving fluidly, and they tackled him as soon as he had stepped into the kitchen.

"Uncle Virgil, I want to go see Daddy too," Luke said, tugging on his uncle's jeans.

"And if Luke goes, I go," Melissa stated adamantly, glaring up at Virgil. "He's my Daddy and I want to see him."

Bending down with difficulty – the hot water from the shower had helped, but it was not enough to soothe the dull ache that emanated from his bones – Virgil hoisted both of them up and placed them on the kitchen bench.

"Listen, kiddos," Virgil began, unknowingly using Scott's nickname for them, which made them glare even harder. "You'll get to see Daddy the next time Mommy goes to visit him. But today, you have to go to your online classes and Daddy and I have to talk about grown up things -"

"I'm a grown up!" Mel interrupted, crossing her arms over her body. "I'm five!"

Virgil stared at the girl, choking on the chuckle that was creeping up his throat. Melissa really was her father in feminine form, right down from her physical features to her mannerisms. One of Virgil's earliest memories was of a five year old Scott sulking, just like Mel was, right down to the lips that were pursed in exactly the same way, after their mother had sent him to the time-out corner for filching a cookie just before dinner.

"Mel, Luke, I'm sorry, but you won't be going with me this time. Now go back to the table and finish your bowls of Count Chocula."

Morosely, the children shuffled back to the dining table, miffed that they couldn't sweet-talk Virgil into taking them with him. Their tactics had worked on Alan and Gordon, so they failed to see why it hadn't worked with Virgil.

Virgil tilted his head back and downed the coffee in one easy swallow, even though it scalded the back of his throat, and he shovelled some toast and jam down. A quick glance to the oven clock, he was about eight minutes behind schedule, but that was okay, he could make it up. Virgil would be there right when visiting time began so he could maximise the amount of time he spent with his brother.

Dumping his empty mug in the sink, Virgil headed to the door and hollered for Gus so that they could leave. Just as he opened the door, Virgil could feel a call coming through on his watch.

"Go ahead, John."

"Virg, I know this is your time off to see Scott, but we've got a call out and the boys could really use your help. It's in San Francisco, so you're right there."

Virgil heaved a sigh. There went his trip to see Scott. "What are the details?"

"There's a fire that cannot be controlled by ordinary means in a highly populated area."

There was something John was holding back, of that much Virgil was sure.

"Virg, you have to get down there now! The call came in from San Francisco County Jail."

* * *

><p>Scott fidgeted, shifting from one side to the other before settling back into his original position. His eyes drifted upwards, and he contemplated moving back onto the cement bed, but that was going to be just as hard and uncomfortable as the floor. He sighed deeply, reminding himself that he only had to spend six more weeks in here before his trial started. Six weeks, in the grand scheme of things, was a relatively short period of time.<p>

"You okay in there?" Adrienne asked. "You're fidgeting a lot and you usually don't do that."

"Yeah, just…" Scott let himself trail off into nothing, not allowing himself to admit to his nerves as he saw it as a weakness within himself.

"Visiting day, isn't it?"

Scott nodded. Today, if he remembered correctly, was the day that Virgil and Gordon were coming to see him. It would be their second trip in a month, which was more frequent than usual. He wondered what had happened to warrant such a change in the normally set schedule. No doubt they were holding something back from him. He huffed again; being stuck within the same four walls had made him cynical, which was a far cry from the person he used to be. Only the memory of his past life was keeping him going, keeping him from caving and changing his plea to guilty. Even though he had not actively killed the Hood, he had not notified anyone about the police guard that had been rendered unconscious. Had he told a hospital staff member, there was the slim possibility that he would not have been arrested and held in jail. In that sense, the Hood's death was his culpability and his alone.

"They'll turn up, y'know," Adrienne continued, with a hint of bitterness. "They always do."

"No one comes to visit you, do they?"

"Nope."

A moment of silence. Scott thought about how lucky he was, to have a family that kept coming to see him. His lawyer dropped in on a fortnightly basis, keeping him in touch with how his defence was shaping up. These brief interludes from his solitary cell were the few things keeping him sane.

"Tell me about your sons."

Scott tilted his head, thought of Luke and Nick, all the little traits and quirks that made them unique, opened his mouth and closed it again. Asking him to talk about his kids was like asking him to catch the ocean with a paper cup.

"It doesn't seem to matter how big they get," Scott began after much consideration, "but when I hold them, they always seem to… fit just right anyway."

A wistful sigh from the other side of the besser block wall. "I always wanted a son. Maybe even two boys."

"No girls, Adrienne?"

"Nah. Us girls, we're high maintenance. Boys don't worry about anything too much. Much more relaxing."

Scott would have begged to differ, especially since his daughter was extremely self-reliant for a five year old and Luke was the kid that was more wound up than a tightly coiled spring, but thinking about his kids caused a sharp pain in his chest. As much as he tried to cut them out of his life, he couldn't. Still, six weeks and he would be back with them. He could hold out until then. He had to.

Suddenly, a static of electricity shot down Scott's spine, taking him by surprise. The only time he ever felt that was when something was just about to go horrendously wrong in a rescue operation. So, what was it? He couldn't hear anything out of the ordinary, but then the solitary cells were so far away from the main compound that he usually couldn't hear anything anyway. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary, but Scott couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. There was a heat to the otherwise stale, dry air, that was it.

"Can you smell that?" Adrienne asked him, brown eyes wide open in panic.

Scott nodded, gut twisting and tying itself in knots as the acrid stench assailed him. "Shit! We're in trouble."

There was nothing for it. Locked in a cell, there was no way he could take charge of the scenario and dampen the fire before it took hold. Instead, he had to settle for second best. Scrambling to the door, making as much noise as he could in the hopes of attracting an officer's attention, Scott cleared his throat and yelled one word at the top of his voice.

"FIRE!"


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety. **

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Twenty Four

Smoke poured in through the gaps between the floor and the cell door. Wheezing and coughing, Scott tried to block out the noxious fumes with the orange sleeve of his jail uniform. He wondered why the doors hadn't opened, why he was still stuck in isolation where he could be charred to a crisp. Time held no meaning to him anymore, but he was sure that he had been in his cell for at least ten minutes since the inferno had started. He wondered if jail personnel actually cared as to whether he lived or died, or if they had just forgotten that there were two people locked up in solitary cells.

Fighting his way through the smoke – it was as thick as wool, except not as pleasant feeling – Scott body slammed into the steel reinforced door, trying to break it down. It was futile, and Scott was well aware of that, but doing something was preferable to chafing inactivity. Cursing as the searing pain hit his shoulder – how could he have forgotten that heat, skin and metal never went well together? – Scott backed off a bit.

"Adrienne? You okay in there?"

There was no response. It was entirely possible that the person that was the closest thing Scott had to a friend had succumbed to the toxic fumes, choking on them instead.

"Adrienne?!" Talking was becoming tiresome, and Scott wasn't sure if he could keep it up. He deliberated; was there any possibility that Adrienne was still conscious, or was it time to cut his losses and focus on keeping himself alive?

It had been almost ten months since he had last been on a rescue, ten months since he had to make a decision like that, and Scott realised that he hadn't missed it one bit.

He hacked up a cough again, shielding himself against the searing heat, the smoke that seemed to encroach upon the room and waited for whatever happened next.

* * *

><p>Virgil jabbed the down button on the lift urgently – it seemed like it took forever for the lift to travel up 88 floors – and was accosted by a seven month pregnant sister-in-law.<p>

"I heard about the fire," Tash said without preamble. "I'm going with you."

"Tash, no," Virgil objected, a warning lacing his tone. "I don't know what to expect when I get there, and it's no place for a heavily pregnant -"

"My husband is in there!" she roared, firing up for a battle against Virgil. "And I am not going to sit by idly when he may need me there!"

A moments' pause. Virgil took a physical step back from the verbal onslaught, while Tash tried to reign in her temper – after all, stress and agitation was not good for her and Scott's unborn baby.

"What if it was Gus in there? Please, Virgil. I need to see him alive, even if it's only briefly."

Virgil sighed, once again thinking how perfectly paired Tash and Scott were for each other. Both were pigheaded, stubborn and resolute; once they had an idea in their head, heaven help anyone that stood in their way. Virgil knew that there was no way he could win an argument against either one of them. Sighing, he relented.

"You stay out of the way," Virgil instructed, leaving no room for argument as he entered the lift that had finally opened its doors. "I'll get you into Thunderbird Two, and you _will_ stay in there, in Sick Bay. I know you left working in the field for International Rescue, but if we rescue people that require medical attention, you will need to treat them, just to explain your presence there. Understand?"

"Agreed."

With the matter settled, the pair battled their way through the throng of media – the cameras had remained camped at the base of the apartment block, in the hopes of getting a small sound bite from a Tracy that could have been used in a news bulletin – and hurried off to the County Jail.

* * *

><p>Brains' laboratory looked like a tornado had hit it. Loose leaf papers were scattered on the floor, test tubes effervesced with unknown chemicals, rotary equipment whirred in the background and the bespectacled man hunched over his Data Pad, watching the same stream of surveillance footage, over and over again.<p>

Penny was right, Brains had confirmed early on in his research; there was something off about the footage, almost like it had been doctored in some way, but he couldn't figure out how it had been altered. There was an algorithm he couldn't crack, and that irked him no end.

Brains was not troubled that there appeared to be someone in the world that was more intelligent than him, but he was troubled that such a person could use their intelligence against a force of good. A big fan of Stan Lee, Brains was certain that with great power came great responsibility. Whoever had doctored the tape had violated that responsibility, and that made Brains all the more determined to catch them.

Pulling off his blue-rimmed glasses in frustration, Brains set them aside and rubbed at bloodshot eyes. The answer was there, right in front of him; he just had to find a way to access it.

He just had to think like a criminal.

Not an easy task, but it had to be done.

So engrossed in his thought process, Brains didn't register the door to the laboratory opening and closing with a slight hiss.

"Here you go, Brains," Tin-Tin said, placing a cup of hot coffee down on a coaster on his desk. "I thought you might need a break."

Brains shot Tin-Tin a tired, tentative, but grateful smile as he took a sip of the drink.

"Still nothing?"

Brains shook his head. Guilt consumed away at his insides; with all the resources he had at his disposal, how could he not figure out how the clip had been altered? He had to do it; failure was not an option. The eldest three Tracy boys had saved his life, both physically and emotionally many years ago, and now was the time for Brains to return the favour. Payment in kind, that was what it was.

"Mind if I watch it?" Tin-Tin picked up the Data Pad and started the surveillance footage. No matter how many times she had seen it before – and Tin-Tin had seen it many times before – the reel still shocked her. The footage was most definitely of Scott, but it was not the Scott she knew. There was no spark in his eyes, none of the compassion that he would usually have when he registered the fact that the guard that stood watch outside the alleged crime scene was unconscious, or possibly dead. The Scott she knew and was familiar with would have stopped and made sure that the guard received medical attention, but the Scott on the video tape simply stepped over the man and entered the room, closing the door behind him.

Something flashed up on the screen – so fast that if she blinked, she would have almost certainly missed it – and that piqued Tin-Tin's curiosity.

"Brains, did you see that?"

Brains shook his head, furious at himself. Static was common on the tape the footage had been recorded on, and he hadn't seen any need to give it a second thought, but now that Tin-Tin had pointed it out to him, he wondered how he had missed it.

Tin-Tin handed back the Data Pad to Brains, relief washing over her. After months and months of cold leads, it felt good to get the ball rolling on this again. Standing up, Tin-Tin headed to the door, ready to check in with Command and Control and get an update on how the rescue was proceeding.

* * *

><p>Mobile Control had been already been firmly established by the time Virgil and Tash arrived on the scene. Alan could be seen liaising with the correctional officers, gathering blueprints of the jail layout, establishing which wings had been successfully evacuated and which ones were still occupied. Just behind Thunderbird One, Gordon was coming into land Thunderbird Two. A touch too fast, Virgil winced as Thunderbird Two thudded to the ground.<p>

Amongst the chaos of the scene – for once, Virgil was glad that there was little crowd control as it was easier to be ignored that way – it was easy for Virgil to pull his sister-in-law through the throng of people and seek shelter in the undercarriage of Thunderbird Two.

"Gordon, open up the pod. We need to get in before people see us."

"FAB."

The order was obeyed, and within minutes, Virgil and Tash were safely ensconced within Thunderbird Two's Sick Bay. It took a few moments for Virgil to morph into 'rescue-mode' but as he pulled on his International Rescue uniform, he started to plan all the equipment he would need for this mission. The Firefly was a given, as was the oxyhydnite gas cylinders to scorch their way through metal doors. First aid kits were hurriedly attached to his sash, and Virgil stashed a number of breathing masks in his kit as well.

"Stay in here, Tash," he implored. "No matter what you hear, stay inside Thunderbird Two. I'm not risking you getting hurt; Scott would never forgive me if that happened, especially since he asked me to look after you."

Of course. There was nothing like emotional guilt-tripping into getting someone to follow his instructions.

Without a second thought, Virgil headed out with Gordon to Mobile Control, waiting to hear what plan Alan had devised.

"Well?" Gordon prompted after a moment of silence, sparing a glance at the plume of smoke rising into the sky.

Alan pointed to the south-west corner on the blueprint. "This is our primary focal point; it's structurally unsafe, and there are still many people in there that haven't been evacuated. From there, we need to move to the adjoining sector and clear that out. We work systematically so that we don't miss anything."

Virgil regarded Alan steadily. "What about solitary confinement? Has that been evacuated? Can we ascertain whether Scott is safe?"

Alan shook his head. "The automated locking system jammed in place as the fire scorched through the emergency release wires. The computer systems have melted, and the doors are made of reinforced steel; too thick for them to be broken down using conventional methods."

"Then we get Scott out first," Virgil growled, sounding very much like a bear that had been woken up early from hibernation. Suppressed anger and rage bled into his tone, something that Alan was quick to pick up on.

"Virgil, remain objective. Do _not_ let your emotions rule your head on this mission! Now move it!"

* * *

><p>This was how he was going to die. At least, it seemed very likely, if not certain. No need for him to have a trial where a jury could find him guilty of a crime he never committed, or have a judge pass the death penalty on him. No need at all. He would die in a human barbeque. No hope of a rescue either; eerie silence reigned. Scott wasn't even sure if International Rescue had been called to the scene. He hoped they had since he knew Virgil, Gordon and Alan wouldn't give up until they found him.<p>

Thinking of his family made the oppressive heat almost bearable, he realised as he choked on the thick smoke, and if he was really honest with himself, he would rather immerse himself in memories that made him feel good. His brothers never failed to put him in a good mood, no matter what funk he was in. Virgil especially, always knew how to pull him out of a black mood, even if it was just with a timely game of pool, or handing him a cool beer while they stood on the balcony of the main villa in the evening. Johnny, with his quiet presence and intellect, was a tower of strength for Scott; many a time a conversation with John had stopped Scott from throwing in the towel. All four of his brothers made the most fantastic uncles to his kids, always indulging them and spoiling them rotten. Despite the gravity of the situation he was in, Scott had to chuckle a bit at that; he had thought that the only person allowed to shower treats on his offspring was his father.

His kids… they were the lights of his life, the reason he hadn't stated a guilty plea. Ever since he learnt that his eldest child had been conceived, every decision he made was with the intention of making the world they lived in better for her, and any subsequent children that followed. There was nothing he wouldn't do for them, no line he wouldn't cross to ensure their safety and well-being, and he was certain that his wife would do the same.

The heat burned around Scott, almost consuming him. His thoughts were becoming muddled, brain being starved of oxygen. Memories of his life - the good, the bad and the ugly – flitted through his mind, one morphing into another with little transition. Unable to fight it any longer, Scott found his eyelids sliding shut as he ventured off into dark oblivion.


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: And it's back. Well, for a bit, anyway. Apologies for the wait; just been a tad bit busy with uni work, work work, and teaching placements. Explosions and chemical experiments are fun; creating lesson plans and filling out OH&S forms are not. For all those who've been reading and wondering what happens next, I hope you enjoy this.**

**The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety. **

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Twenty Five

It was protocol that International Rescue cooperated with the local yokels when they had been called out to a rescue scene; after all, who knew the ins and outs of the situation better than the people that were on the scene from the get go. Protocol, however, had gone out the window with this particular rescue.

"Did you, or did you not call us and ask for assistance?!" Alan roared, embroiled in a bitter argument with the jail warden.

Virgil and Gordon had radioed in moments before, informing him that they had pulled out two bodies from solitary confinement. One was breathing, just, the other wasn't. Honey brown eyes stared resolutely at Alan through the screen on Mobile Control while Gordon flurried around in the background, attaching sensors and monitors onto a body that Alan couldn't see. Alan nodded, wordlessly giving assent for the next stage of the rescue, letting Virgil and Gordon know that they could take the two bodies on board Thunderbird Two so that they could be rushed to hospital for medical attention. _FAB,_ Virgil had grinned back before signing off to help Gordon out.

The jail warden nodded, ready to verbally volley back, but Alan was having none of it.

"We will transport the rescuees to the hospital," Alan stated categorically, holding up a hand to forestall any more arguments. "They are under our jurisdiction now."

With a flick of his hair that was worthy of a Loreal model, Alan turned on his heel and marched back towards Thunderbird Two's Sick Bay. It was easier to have the last word that way.

"We need more beds," Alan told Tash without preamble. "Two more people coming in, and we're taking them to the nearest hospital. Prepare yourself for patients suffering from smoke inhalation, burns, dehydration and possible delirium. Set up the pods; that should ensure some privacy and keep the people in isolation separate from the other prisoners."

The pods were a new addition to Thunderbird Two's infirmary. They were miniature rooms that could be set up in the infirmary, hiding one patient from another, and they were often used when the men of International Rescue were treating each other while civilians were being transported to a hospital. Just another way of trying to maintain anonymity.

"Understood," she replied. "Any news on Scott?"

"He's out of solitary, but I'm unsure of his medical status. Virg and Gordon hadn't evaluated that; they just told me that they had found him."

A relieved sigh, followed by a wince. Alan was at her side immediately.

"Tash, is everything okay?"

"Yep, just Braxton Hicks. Common during the last few months of pregnancy."

Alan led her to a vacant chair, urging her to rest. Dealing with irate law enforcement and ensuring that his men in the field were still safe given the deteriorating structural integrity of the building they were rescuing in; having to deliver a baby due to premature labour was not something on Alan's to-do list. The watch on Alan's wrist beeped at him, telling him that an incoming message was stored on Mobile Control's memory bank, and that he needed to respond to that. With another admonishment to stay seated until she was needed, Alan rushed back to man his post.

* * *

><p>There was something in his hair. An unusual prospect for someone that had been placed in solitary confinement for the better part of a year. There was something around his mouth and nose too. There was a drone in his ears, and the inner pilot in him recognised it as the hum of engines.<p>

Thunderbird Two, to be precise.

He groaned, reluctantly opening his eyes while ripping the nebuliser off his face, skin red raw from where it had been burnt.

"Take it easy, Scott; you were deprived of oxygen for some time," a female voice told him as she placed the nebuliser back over his mouth.

Scott's eyes darted over to the source of the noise. "Tash?"

"Hi, honey."

"What're you doing here?"

"Looking after you," she replied, grabbing onto his hand. "Do you remember what happened?"

Scott sighed deeply, painfully before hacking up a cough, rubbing at his temples where a headache from smoke inhalation had settled. Again, he tried to remove his nebuliser, also tugging at the saline lines attached to the crook of his elbow.

"Leave it alone, Scott," Tash sighed exasperatedly. As much as she loved her husband, he damn well infuriated her when he was a patient that needed to be treated. Thinking of a way to keep both his hands away from the medical equipment that was treating him; she placed them on her stomach, allowing Scott to feel their baby move for the first time. Enough of a distraction to draw a wondered smile from him, enough to momentarily forget the wires and tubes coming out of him, but she still needed him to answer the question she had asked before.

"Scott, do you know what happened?"

"Fire. Fire everywhere. Heat as well. Burns."

That much was a good response, showing that Scott was lucid enough to have rational thought.

"Adrienne," Scott continued, thoughts filtering through the haze. "The person in the other solitary cell. What happened?"

"In the other pod," Tash indicated with a flick of her head. "Figured it was better to keep you in isolation while you're on familiar territory."

"Alive?"

"Just. Both of you were extremely lucky, and we've been instructed by the warden to transport you to San Francisco's prisoner ward, where you'll be placed under a twenty-four hour watch and have all visiting privileges stripped away from you."

Scott grimaced at that, just as she knew he would. Despite appearances, Scott relied on tactility to keep him in touch with the world.

"I'll try and keep you in here for as long as possible. In the meantime, I need to go check on my other patient. You'll be okay while I do that, won't you?"

As soon as the door to his pod slid shut, Scott began to think events through. Yes, there had been a fire. The burns on his hands told him that much. Yes, he had found himself struggling to not succumb to the acrid smoke. The fact that he was finding it hard to breathe told him that he had failed in that attempt. But aside from those two facts, he could not remember much else.

Sighing once more as he reclined against a pillow – surprisingly uncomfortable, as Scott had spent the better part of a year sleeping on a hard surface – something struck him as odd. He'd been out for a while, that much he was sure of, but Thunderbird Two was still flying level, instead of preparing for a descent. Biting down on his tongue to suppress the grunt that threatened to escape from his lips, Scott yanked the IV line out from the crook of his elbow. Discarding the nebuliser, Scott struggled to his feet and headed out from Thunderbird Two's Sick Bay, climbing up stairs that would lead him to the cockpit of Thunderbird Two. A hand-scan and a passcode allowed him access to the cockpit, something which surprised Scott, as he thought that his data would have been removed from the system after he had told his dad that he wasn't going to be a part of International Rescue anymore.

Virgil was so engrossed in flying Two, brow puckered into a frown as he worried over Scott's condition, that he didn't notice the aforementioned brother sliding into the seat behind him.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?!" Scott growled, sounding very much like a pissed off bear. Blue eyes had taken stock of their surroundings, with the Pacific Ocean stretching out to the horizon. Not a sight that made Scott happy, as he knew that land would have been behind them.

Virgil jumped visibly, head swivelling around so that he could stare at an irate older brother, subtly pressing a panic button that would tell Gordon that he was needed immediately in the cockpit instead of resting in the small quarters available to International Rescue staff. "Scott! What are you doing up here?! You should be in Sick Bay!"

"And you should be taking me to hospital," Scott rejoined without missing a beat, face contorting as his newly acquired burns stretched as he talked. "Not taking me on a sightseeing tour of the Pacific."

Virgil hesitated. Enough time for Scott to work out what Virgil's intentions were, even through the befuddled haze that had settled in his head. Good intentions were always going to go awry.

"Virgil, don't tell me you were taking back to the Island."

Virgil's jaw jutted out, lips pressed together tightly. "And what if I am?"

"Then," Scott paused, not for dramatic effect, but because he felt the urge to cough up his lungs. "We're going to have a serious problem."

Reaching towards Virgil's sash, Scott snagged the laser stun gun that was holstered and aimed it at some of Thunderbird Two's vital flight systems. "I am asking you nicely; take me back."

"You wouldn't!"

"Try me. Now, take me back."

Virgil eyeballed Scott. Scott eyeballed Virgil. The pair were locked in a Mexican stand-off, unusual for the brothers that usually saw eye to eye. If Scott fired, Virgil would have no option but to turn back; San Francisco was much closer to them than Tracy Island.

"I don't believe it!" Virgil gasped, staring at the gun Scott held. "My own brother is hijacking me! In my own ship!"

"I don't believe it!" Scott mimicked. "My own brother is kidnapping me! In his own ship!"

The door behind them slid open with a hiss. Both boys turned their head, watching as Gordon took in the scene.

"What the hell is going on in here?" he said slowly, gingerly stepping forward. Never, in a million years, did he think that Scott could pull a gun on his own family. Jail had changed him, and not for the better.

"Scott hijacked me!" Virgil shouted, before Scott could get a word in edgeways. "Here we are, trying to get him back home, and he hijacked me!"

"Virgil abducted me! Despite his thoughts, I can't go home!" Scott yelled, despite the hoarseness of his throat. "Not until I've cleared my name! Not until I'm proven innocent in a court of law! Can't you see that?!"

Gordon took a few more tentative steps inside the cockpit, sitting down and strapping himself into the vacant passenger seat. "Scott, look at me."

No reaction from his eldest brother.

"LOOK AT ME!" Gordon roared, so loud he was sure everyone would have heard him. "THAT'S AN ORDER!"

A first for Gordon; he had never been able to successfully order his older brothers around.

"Put the gun down."

Scott's grip on the gun tightened.

"Scott." A tentative move, as Gordon placed one hand over Scott's. "Don't do this. Just put the gun down and we'll talk, okay?"

"I don't want to talk; I need to know that you'll turn Thunderbird Two around, land in San Francisco, strap me to a gurney and escort me up to the hospital."

Virgil looked at Gordon, helplessness evident in his eyes. Gordon stared back, feeling equally as bad. All the brothers wanted Scott back on the island with them and Virgil seemed to be the only one doing anything about it. Unfortunately, Gordon was worried that Virgil hadn't thought it through, at least, not rationally. The first thing that would happen, Gordon knew, was a thorough raid on the island, as the FBI would suspect the Tracy family of harbouring a fugitive. The secret base of International Rescue would not be so secret anymore, increasing the risk of exposure. And even if they did manage to successfully smuggle Scott back home, and he did evade recapture, the island would become just as much of a prison as jail had been. There would be no way Scott could leave the island; every country would have a warrant for his arrest. Scott would end up spending the rest of his life looking over his shoulder, and no man would have to live that way. No, Gordon and Scott had foreseen what Virgil could not.

"Turn around, Virg," Gordon instructed. "We'll do exactly what Scott said."

Virgil stared on incredulously.

"Just do it!" the ginger snapped, prising the gun out of Scott's fingers. "I know what you wanted to do, and believe me; I want to do it too."

"Then we'll do it."

"I wish we could, but we can't. We can't jeopardise Scott's future like this. We need to play the game by the rules to get him back."

Virgil muttered so softly that Gordon had to strain his ears to hear what the chestnut haired man had said.

"That's a chance we have to take. Scott's willing to take the chance of facing a court and a jury; we need to back his play. Understand?"

The fight seemed to go out of Virgil as he sagged against his pilot's chair. "FAB," he muttered, voice as bitter as coffee grounds. Pained honey-burnt eyes blinked at hardened, cobalt blue eyes as Virgil banked Thunderbird Two in a 180 degree arc.

"I hope you know what you're doing from this point in, Scott."

"No, I don't. But until a few moments ago, neither did you," Scott pointed out, standing up as Gordon prepared to escort him down to Sick Bay, leaving nothing but remorse and an upset brother trailing in his wake.


	26. Chapter 26

**Disclaimer: ****The Thunderbirds do not belong to me. They are the intellectual and actual property of Gerry Anderson and his affiliates. Any original characters are a product of my imagination.**

**AN: The sequel to **_**Devils in Disguise**_**, which is currently housed in the 'M' section of this site for subject matter and safety. **

**Needless to say, as a sequel story, OCs established in the other tales will feature, briefly, in this, but I'm thinking it could still be understood if you haven't read them. Anyway, enough from me... hope you enjoy.**

Chapter Twenty Six

"What?!" Jeff growled, hackles raised.

From behind the screen that linked the island to Thunderbird Five, the son held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm passing on the message; please don't shoot me."

"Someone intentionally tried to kill my son?!"

"It appears so," John replied with calm efficiency, masking the anger and rage that surged through him. No one picked on his brothers, no one, and lived to tell the tale. "According to the fire crew, accelerant had been left around the base of the prison, close to where Scott was being held. In addition to that, the cell doors are meant to unlock automatically in the event of a fire. Virgil and Gordon had to use oxyhydnite and blow torches in order to break through the cell door; it was locked fast. Dad, this was deliberate, no doubt about it."

Jeff slammed a fist into his desk. Over the past year, things that he thought were a constant in his life had turned out to be anything but; John had, thankfully, chosen to recover from his alcoholism (even though it took a long time to get John there), Scott had been arrested (not the best thing in the world), Scott had resigned from International Rescue and outed himself as a member of the organisation (not that Jeff could blame him; if that was his only shot at freedom, he would have done the same thing), and now someone was trying to off his son?!

And for what?!

"John, you find out as much information as you can, and then you report it back to me," he snarled, agitatedly pacing up and down on the floor. "Understand? Then I want a status update from the boys."

"FAB."

* * *

><p>Gordon reattached the saline drip into his brother, furtively looking over his shoulder to check that Tash wasn't sneaking up behind them. It was not an action that went unnoticed by Scott, who chuckled weakly.<p>

"Don't know what you were thinking, escaping from Sick Bay like that. What would your wife say, huh?" Gordon muttered crossly, pulling a blanket over his brother and placing soft restraints on Scott's wrists.

Scott glared down at the shackles on his wrists, strapping him to the bed. "Take them off!" Scott snarled, rattling them noisily. "You know I hate restraints."

"You should have thought of that before you attempted to hijack Virgil," Gordon retorted sharply. "You know the rules for hijacking; since you've handed in your resignation from IR, you're no longer an exception to the rule."  
>A glower shot in the red head's direction. "You know I can't go back until I clear my name. A life on the lam is no life at all, especially with four kids."<p>

A sobered silence.

"I know." Gordon sat down heavily on the bed, narrowly avoiding Scott's legs. "And I want your name cleared as much as you do, which is why I told Virgil to take us back."

Scott set an intense, laser beam stare at his brother. "You believe me?"

"When have you ever given me reason not to?" Gordon replied. Spying Tash standing at the door, Gordon rose to his feet, sensing that the pair needed to talk in private. "I've got to head back up to the flight deck, but either I'll see you before we land, or I'll send Virgil down. Now go spend time with your wife."

Gordon had to suppress a smile at the wince that flashed across Scott's face. Both of them knew that Virgil's anger at being held up in his own Thunderbird, plus his inability to spirit Scott back to the island without anyone calling him up on it would make for a fraught meeting. With a cheerful wave, Gordon sauntered out of Sick Bay.

"See?" she told him, taking Gordon's place on the bed. "Gordon believes you. John believes you. Alan and Virgil believe you. I believe you. You have all kinds of disciples."

"Just none on the jury."

Another moment of silence as they contemplated the trial that lay ahead of them.

"The kids miss you, even this little one," she said, hand stealing around her bump as the baby kicked at her.

"Kaitlin does that a lot, does she?" Scott asked, hand moving instinctively to where their unborn child lay.

"Kaitlin?"

"Kaitlin," Scott confirmed. "Kaitlin Tracy. It's what Mom wanted to call me if I was a girl."

Tash nodded in acceptance. After all, it had long been established that any girls they had were named for Scott's side of the family and any boys they had were named for hers.

"I miss you too, y'know. I miss waking up in the mornings to see you cooking breakfast at the stove. I miss…" she broke off, belatedly realising just how painful this would be for Scott.

"I know."

There was no _I miss you and the kids as well_ from him, a clear sign that his incarceration was emotionally killing Scott from the inside out. Either that, or he was pulling away, as he so often did when life got grim.

More uncomfortable silence. Scott turned his head away so that he was staring at the rivets on the bulkhead.

"I miss," he eventually said, a confession waterfalling from his lips, placing a voice to his fears. "I miss domesticity. I miss watching the kids early in the morning, just before they wake up. I miss the sound of bacon sizzling in the frying pan. I miss the way you sneak kisses from me as we're cooking dinner. I miss the weight of Nick climbing all over me. I miss helping Luke with his reading. I even miss the bossiness of Mel. I miss my life, and even if I'm freed, I don't know if I can get it back."

* * *

><p>The density of the Malaysian jungle covered up the stone monument. The humidity of the season meant that few people were willing to track deep into the jungle, making it the perfect place for the man to hide, unknown, unfettered from anyone that sought after him, especially since he had taken care of those two pesky International Rescue agents. Their dust scattered in the winds, no souvenirs of the cold-blooded murder carried out on his soil. He truly was the Hood's apprentice, after all, his predecessor had done the same thing; no remorse was shown to anyone that trespassed on his property.<p>

In the background, the television sparked on, automatically tuning into the 24 hour news channel. The bulletin drew the man's attention, and he cursed as he learnt that the plan to eliminate the members of International Rescue, one by one, had failed. All the inmates from San Francisco County Jail had been evacuated, no thanks to the blundering agency that served to protect humanity.

Electrical impulses fired through his brain, reflecting the rage that he felt, and the television screen promptly imploded. Damn psychic abilities destroying his electronic items.

It was falling apart, everything was falling apart. He was beginning to leave a trail, and that was not something he wanted. Trails meant that his nondescript status would be gone, and he was bound to be found. Trails meant that the game was drawing to a close, and this was not a game he wanted to lose. In this game, he would win, or he would die.

Heaving a sigh, the apprentice turned to his Datapad, beginning to scheme more nefarious plots to keep him one step ahead of everyone else.


End file.
